One Last Chance - Revisited
by RMacaroni
Summary: Your chance to give One Last Chance another chance! What happens when you risk everything for one last chance? A chance at greatness. A chance at love.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Why, hello there! Is anyone still reading twific?

If you are like me, then yes, you are nostalgically still very much reading twific...

So I did a little experiment: A while ago I wrote a non twific story which I posted here. But I was always yearning and in my head turning it around and playing with the characters. So now, I've really done it, I've made it a twific. I've changed a few things here and there to make the story work... so...

If you are one of the 5 people who read the original (non twific) One Last Chance, then you may or may not want to read this (again). But if you didn't read it because it wasn't twific, then this might be your chance to give One Last Chance another chance!

This is a test, just to see whether people will be interested in reading. It's all written, and re-written already, so just let me know if you'd like me to post it or not.

As usual, Packy is my partner in crime, Stephenie Meyer owns twilight and I only own the mistakes left here.

Hope you enjoy it!

Mac.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

They lost.

He's sitting on the turf, head on his hands while his fingers pull at his hair.

My stomach twists inside of me because I know how much this means to him, and he is not one to take defeats easily. Approaching him tentatively, I lower myself into a crouch next to him. My hand reaches for the back of his head, my fingers run in his soaked hair.

"Not now, Bella." Even though his head is down, and his hands shield his face, he knows it's me, and in spite of his use of my standard nickname, there is nothing loving about his tone — he is pissed.

"You did your best," I still try to comfort him. "Don't beat yourself up over it."

When he lifts his head, I know I've done something wrong. The anger emanating from his eyes makes me drop my hand at once.

"My best?! That was clearly NOT my best." He is seething, panting harshly as he glares at me.

I notice the bruise that's starting to form in his cheekbone from where he clashed heads with one of the other team's players. "Are you okay?" I reach for his face, trying to help him in any way that I can, but he flinches away from me.

I sigh, dropping my hand again, and he replies with a groan, lowering his head back onto his arms.

As he retreats to his shell, I notice the shape a few yards away from us — standing with his hands on his hips and still noticeably panting.

Of course, everyone on the team has worked hard on this game.

When our eyes meet, he looks down.

My eyes search the rest of the field. It's just the three of us, Emmett, still cursing, sitting in front of me, and then his best friend, Edward, a few yards away, still looking at us.

 _I wonder why Edward is still out here._

When he finally makes eye contact, he sends me an apologetic glance — he knows Emmett is being an asshole.

"Are you okay?" I mouth the words. He still pants profusely, so I worry.

He nods his answer and his hand stretches, pointing a finger in my direction. "You?"

The exchange is quick and somehow awkward. I've known Edward for as long as I've known Emmett, but we've never been close. He has always kept to himself.

I glance back at Emmett, placing a hand on his arm, but he gets up suddenly, making me fall on my ass.

"I need a moment, okay?" His voice is sharp and clipped, straining with the effort of not losing it, but I know him — this is him trying to not be more of an ass than he's already been.

We've been together for four years, Emmett and I. He's impulsive, sometimes explosive, but he has a good heart.

I still look at him, astonished as he walks past me — my mouth hanging open and my ass still planted on the turf. He storms off the field without another word and not even a glance back in my direction.

I wipe my hands on my jeans to get rid of the dirt as I get up. I'm a bit embarrassed by Emmett's outburst but luckily, when I turn to Edward, I notice he's now facing the opposite direction, both hands on top of his head. I sit on the bench and gather my things, getting ready to leave.

This has been a difficult season for Emmett, I tell myself. The harsh criticism he received after the last tournament affected him in the worst possible way, and he hasn't been the same since. He's under the overwhelming impression that he has to be flawless now, but that is obviously too much to ask, even for Emmett. His overthinking of every play has taken a toll on his game, on his confidence, and — especially — on his mood.

I try not to think too much about it. I've tried to be as understanding as I can possibly be, but at the end of the day, him treating me this way hurts.

Edward walks by me on his way to the showers, and when I look up, his eyes are on me. He gives me a sheepish smile, halting briefly in front of me, but with a shake of his head, he keeps going into the tunnel.

A few seconds later he's out again though, and walks back closer to me.

I peek at him in confusion. We've never really interacted before. Nothing more than the usual greeting each other during a team's event. He keeps to himself most times, and even though he and Emmett are very close, I've always felt like he doesn't like me.

Edward stalls in front of me, a hand scratching the back of his head. He opens and closes his mouth a couple times, until he finally sits next to me.

"I'm sorry," he says, looking down at his hands. I can feel the warmth emanating from him.

"What are you sorry for?"

"He really shouldn't treat you that way." Apologies swirl in the green of his eyes as they meet mine.

I'm a little taken aback by his words. I was hoping he had not noticed Emmett's little outburst. I feel a bit embarrassed now, insulted, defensive... "He's frustrated. He must be exhausted and-"

"So am I," he interrupts. "But you don't see me yelling at you."

"I know, but-"

"Don't make up excuses for him, Isabella." His voice wraps around my name with sincerity. He feels strongly about this. I've never had him address me like this before. "It's not right."

I glance back at him, I can't help but feel judged. "I don't see how this pertains to you," I add a little defensively.

"That was appalling to watch," He counters with a frown. "I felt like I needed to say something."

"And now you have... so?" I cross my arms in front of me.

"Right..." He runs his hands on his thighs a couple times before getting up. "I shouldn't have said anything. I'm sorry."

His apologetic expression is so genuine it disarms me. I know I shouldn't be upset with him. He's done nothing but try to be nice to me, and here I am being nothing but a bitch to him.

"Edward?" I call behind him, as he is about to re-enter the tunnel.

He turns his head in my direction.

"Thank you," I say.

He grins briefly again with a nod, before retreating into the tunnel.

 _"That was appalling to watch,"_ Edward's words replay in my head.

 _Indeed it was…_

With a sigh, I get up and leave.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Well thanks everyone! It brings me joy to share with you these characters I write and love. Please keep letting me know what you think, there isn't anything more fun than reading your reviews!

I will probably get into a regular schedule of posting twice a week (Tu/Th) starting next week.

Here's just a quick update before the weekend,

As usual, Packy is my partner in crime, Stephenie Meyer owns twilight and I only own the mistakes left here.

Enjoy!

Mac

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

With Emmett's little outburst after the game still in my mind, I considered leaving earlier than we had arranged. I was supposed to stay with Emmett for the whole weekend, instead of studying for my finals. The train ride would have helped me clear my head and I could certainly use the extra day of studying.

Emmett insisted though, that I stayed like we had planned and that he would drive me home when the weekend was over.

I agreed hesitantly, just to try to avoid conflict. Our situation — living in two different cities — was already tight as it was.

When I first met Emmett, I was an undergrad and he was just starting to play professionally. Once I graduated, I decided to stay for a masters program in Frankfurt, which is _only_ two hours away from Dortmund, where his team plays.

So here I am, sitting at our table at a fancy sponsor's dinner party for his team, and even though I am surrounded by people, mostly Emmett's teammates and their girlfriends, I feel completely alone.

To make matters worse, I have Jasper Whitlock and his girlfriend Alice — all smiles and giggles, struggling to keep their hands off each other — sitting right next to me.

I scan the room trying to avoid the lovebirds, and I finally see Emmett from where I'm sitting. He's at the pool table, with Jake and Seth, the youngest ones from the team. They seem to be having fun and Emmett seems to have relaxed a bit.

I am sure the alcohol he has ingested has probably helped a bit too.

Lost in thought and half way through the song is when I realize everyone has left the table and are now on the dance floor.

I twirl the straw in my drink wearily, wishing we'd go home soon.

"So... no dancing?" His voice takes me by surprise.

Edward sits next to me; the collar of his shirt opened and his tie is a little loose. A small grin lights up his features as he looks at me.

"No. Emmett doesn't dance," I respond matter-of-factly.

"Would you like to?"

"Well, yeah..." I snort. "But you try getting Em to do something he doesn't like to do."

I, on the other hand, love dancing, but it's something I rarely get to do anymore.

He sighs into his drink, turning to look in the direction of the dance floor again. He shakes his head and turns to look at me. "I meant would you like to dance... right now... with me?"

His eyes are so green and bright, I lose track of myself for a second.

I look over at Emmett; he's laughing loudly, one arm around Jake.

"I don't know if that's such a good idea," I whisper softly as I take a sip of my drink.

"You're right," he says before tipping his glass. "I'm not much of a dancer anyway. You save me from embarrassing myself." He chuckles softly into his glass.

"I've seen you dance." I tease, quirking my eyebrow. "You're alright."

His smile stretches impossibly wider as he stares at me. I have seen him dance, with his girl. I notice, for the first time, that she isn't here.

Before I can ask where she is, Emmett comes back. He sits roughly next to me, his arm sloppily dropping over my shoulders. As I try not to spill my drink on my dress or him, his fingers grasp my chin and he turns my face to his. His lips are on me next, wet and tasting like scotch.

When his tongue slips in my mouth, my hand flies to his chest over the open collar of his neck — in warning — trying to calm him down. With a little grunt, he leaves my face. His eyes are almost shut — he's drunk.

"Did someone have too much to drink?" My fingers run over his jaw and push some of his hair behind his ear.

"I'm done. Let's go," Emmett says, setting the glass on the table and getting up.

I turn to Edward to say goodbye, but I realize he's gone. I frown in confusion, staring at the empty chair, the whole day replaying in my head.

I hate the image he is getting of us, of me…

 _Why would Edward even care?_

I quickly dismiss the foolishness of my thoughts, grab up my things, and rush out behind Emmett.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: I had to make a change in cities to make the story work. I've fixed chapter two as well. I apologize for any confusion!

As usual, Packy is my partner in crime, Stephenie Meyer owns twilight and I only own the mistakes left here.

Enjoy!

Mac

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

Chapter 3.

I have always hated missing Emmett's games, not being at the stadium, not being there for him. Luckily, these days, you can even stream a game on your cell-phone, so I can follow it wherever I am.

It's not ideal of course, but it's the next best thing. For the four years I've been with Emmett, I've followed his team's ups and downs, and I have hopelessly become a die-hard fan.

It's no surprise that the day of my Master's degree graduation, instead of interacting with my fellow graduates, I sit back in a room, my eyes glued to the screen of my phone. Emmett's team is currently down to ten men after a silly foul and an over-reactive referee, and it's not looking good. The game is still 0-0, but they've had to put in so much extra to compensate.

Once I see the game will go to extra time, I start losing hope that Emmett will make it on time.

It takes two hours to drive from Dortmund, where his team plays, to Frankfurt, where I live and go to school.

He will be exhausted once he's done with the game.

I just know this — he won't come.

I flinch and bring the screen of my cellphone closer. That was a bad fall. Edward is down, grabbing his hip, cringing in pain.

 _Oh God..._

They have no more substitutions.

 _Shit..._

"Bella, you ready?" Angela, my classmate opens the door, distracting me from my phone.

It's time to go.

I turn off my cell and grab my gown from the chair. "Yeah, let's go."

I'm already at my department's party when my phone rings — Emmett.

"Hey, how did it go?" I ask, walking outside so I can hear him.

"Bella, hi..." he sounds distracted. There's a lot of noise coming in from the background. "It went well. We're through. We won on penalty kicks."

"Wow... Congratulations! I saw it went to extra time, but I hadn't been able to check the score. Are you on your way?" I try not to sound too hopeful, but there's a chance he can still make it.

"Bella, I..." I hear him take in a deep breath, exhaling through a groan. He's exhausted. I know this.

"Em, it's okay. It's not a big deal." _Except it's my freaking graduation!_

"I'm sorry."

I can hear someone else through the line, but the sounds are muffled. "Dude, I can't even feel my legs right now, and it's a two-hour drive," I hear Emmett say; even though it seems he's tried to cover the phone.

I let out a small sigh. He's not coming.

"What for?" he asks to whoever he's talking to on the other side of the line.

He seems to do a better job covering the receiver, so I can't catch any of the rest.

"Bella?" Emmett's tone shifts, he's not apologetic anymore.

"Yeah?"

"I'm on my way, okay? I'll see you there."

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

As soon as I see him, I can't keep the smile off my face. Emmett stands tall, at his 6'5'', close to the door and impossible to miss. He is in dark jeans and a grey v-neck sweater, the collar of his button up peaking from underneath. His dark hair is a mess, falling over his forehead, and he flashes a cheeky smirk at me when he spots me.

I approach him excitedly, my heels clicking on my way.

"Babe, you look beautiful." He kisses my cheek and half hugs me with one arm, bending over to meet my height.

"Are you okay?" My hands clasps around his cheeks, my eyes examine his. He looks tired but seems okay.

"Yeah..." He shrugs. "Just a bit sore."

"Thanks for coming." I run a hand down his arm while a smile spreads on my face.

He made it after all. He came here, for me, for my graduation, even after his game.

"Where's the bar?" He asks, his eyes roaming the room. "I need to wake up. That two-hour nap might not have been the best idea."

"Nap?" I ask, while he's already moving out of my sight.

"Oh... yeah. Edward drove," he adds nonchalantly, stopping on his way to the back of the room where the reception is already set up. "You want something to drink?"

 _Edward?_

"Oh... no, no." I wave Emmett off dismissively, still confused about what he just said. "I'm... I'm fine."

As Emmett retreats, I look back in the direction of the door to find Edward, his back against the wall, looking straight at me. He's in a grey long sleeve shirt, rolled up to his elbows, with a white t-shirt underneath. His hands are in the pockets of his dark pants.

A nervous feeling settles in my stomach. I don't even know what to think.

 _Why is he here?_

My feet move uncertainly in his direction. My fingers twitch as I clasp my hands together.

He stretches his pose when I stand in front of him, a small but polite smile sets on his lips, but he says nothing.

"Hey," I say.

"Isabella, hi." He nods. "Congratulations." He extends his hand to me for a shake, and I smile, embracing him in a hug instead.

"Thank you," I whisper as I release him, noticing he did not hug me back.

We stand awkwardly in front of each other for a few seconds. Even though he is not as tall as Emmett, he is still 6'1'' or so and towers over me. He glances over my shoulder a couple times, searching for Emmett, I presume. "He's getting drinks," I say. "What... um... what are you doing here?"

He scratches the back of his head, stalling on words, his eyes guiltily peeking at me.

Then it all makes sense. He was the one talking to Emmett while I was on the phone with him. He is who persuaded Emmett's mind about coming.

"He wasn't going to come, was he?" It should have been obvious from the beginning. Edward is the only reason Emmett is here.

"He was..." Edward shakes his head, his hands up in front of me. "He wanted to," he corrects.

"Don't lie for him, Edward." I palm my forehead, saddened in realization. Emmett was never going to come.

"It was a long and difficult game," Edward adds. "That's all."

"Right..."

He exhales through his nose as his gaze penetrates me. I'm grounded to my spot by the intense green of his eyes, which try to say so much even though he remains quiet.

I look down at my hands and notice his are in tight fists at his sides.

Before I can ask him what's wrong, Emmett returns.

"Beer?" Emmett offers Edward, who shakes his head. "Oh right..." Emmett sets one drink down as he sips from the other one. "Not good to mix with those meds."

Emmett's hand finds my shoulders, exposed under my dress, and he runs his fingers from my neck to the small of my back, a devious smirk on his face, peeking down at me.

I'm not sure if my shivers arise from the coolness of his fingertips after holding the beer, or from how uncomfortable it feels that he's being this intimate in front of Edward whose eyes won't leave mine.

"I should probably get going." Edward steps away from the wall, hobbling a bit, keeping the weight off his right leg. His fists tighten infinitely more.

My stomach sinks — he's hurt.

"You don't have to go," I blurt out.

"Yeah, man. Stay. We'll drive back tomorrow morning."

He shakes his head minutely, disapprovingly. His eyes remain on me.

Emmett's arm is off me and over Edward's shoulder in the next second. "C'mon, you don't want to take that two-hour drive back by yourself, do you? This won't be long, plus Bella has a couch. It's fine. Right, babe?"

"Yes, of course." I smile timidly at Edward. He agrees, although his face does not show relief.

It's not too long before the graduates are being called over. I give them both a small smile as they walk to their seats. I head in the opposite direction, joining the rest of the graduates.

I feel silly in my cap and gown as my name gets called.

Emmett's voice resonates in the room as he chants, "That's my girl!" as loud as he can. Next to him, Edward is standing too, a small smile on his lips, clapping and staring at me.

You could pick them both out a mile away, tall, broad shouldered and muscular — professional athletes, no doubt — standing out next to my classmates and their families.

I hold my degree in my hand proudly, as I greet everyone and take pictures. I giggle at Emmett still whistling, and try to focus my attention on not falling down the steps. Glad to have the embarrassing part over, I decide to enjoy the rest of the night.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

A/N: How are we feeling?


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: I am curious, what do you guys think? Did Edward drive Emmett to Bella's graduation so that Emmett could be there for her OR so that Edward himself could be there? Hit that review button and let me know! :)

As usual, Packy-pie is my porecious, Stephenie Meyer owns twilight, and I only own the mistakes left here.

Enjoy!

Mac

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

Chapter 4

Once Emmett is snoring, I sneak out of the room.

I haven't been able to talk to Edward all night, and I just want to check if he's okay... and thank him for coming... and for bringing Emmett.

I walk in the living room tentatively, quietly, trying not to wake him up in case he is asleep. My eyes adapt quickly to the faint moonlight coming in through the blinds.

Before I take the next step, I hear him groan as he turns on the couch. "Stupid, stupid, stupid... Shit." He groans again.

"Edward?" I whisper.

He sits with a jolt, startled. His hand flies to his hip and he winces.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to wake you. Are you okay?"

When his eyes find mine, he stops rubbing his hip and composes his face. "I'm fine." He nods briefly, extending his leg, as he struggles to find a comfortable position on the couch.

"You sure?" I insist.

"Mmmhmm..." He exhales through his nose.

I decide not to push it, even though I don't believe him — something I've learned to do quite well because of Emmett. So I stand there awkwardly, in the middle of my living room, regretting having left my bed.

"Is everything okay?" he asks after a while.

"Umm... Yeah..." I reach for the chair next to the couch, taking a seat. "I just wanted to say thank you, for coming here, and bringing Emmett with you."

He smiles timidly at me.

"You're a good friend, Edward," I add.

He snorts sarcastically, dropping his head back on the couch. When he looks at me again, he's frowning.

"What?" My question comes out in a whisper as his eyes land on mine. They look dark and sad.

"Nothing..." he says dismissively, his hand on his hip again.

"Okay..." I breathe out in exasperation. "Can you please tell me what's wrong? Because you are obviously not okay."

"It's just a little sore." He shrugs.

"Can I get you anything?"

"No... it's fine. I actually have the meds in the car." He starts getting up from the couch, keeping his weight off his leg. I rise from my chair at the same time he stumbles forward, and I catch his arm, steadying him.

He breathes out harshly, his chest right in front of my face, pumping up and down under his white tee. My fingers tingle with a strange current that the touch of his skin provokes in me.

I drop my hand, still unable to look him in the eyes, and take a step back.

 _What the hell was that?_

"Um..." I stare at my hands. "If you give me your keys, I'll go get it for you."

"I just didn't want to wake you guys..." He stalls, his tone changing at his mention of us. "But now that you're up, I can go get it. It's fine." He hobbles forward again, and I look up. I'm trapped between him, the couch, and the coffee table. I ponder whether to help him or just get out of the way.

In fear of feeling whatever it was I felt before, I move out of the way. I can see he's trying not to limp, as he hobbles past me. "Edward, really, I can go get it for you."

He stops in front of me, his hand reaching for my face. "I'm fine."

With his thumb, he pulls gently on my chin, effectively releasing the bottom lip I didn't know I was biting. Something must have changed on my face then, because he drops his hand suddenly. "I'm fine," he says again, shaking his head. "It actually hurts more when I'm sitting." He turns at the door, a timid smile on his face. "I'll be right back."

I watch the door close from my spot in the living room, paralyzed. My fingers touch my bottom lip, where his thumb brushed my skin a few seconds ago. It was nothing, but it felt like so much — like too much.

I set a kettle on the stovetop to offer him some tea when he returns. As I wait, I can't help but think about him going down the stairs in whatever state he's in. Or him driving, two hours to get here, when he just said sitting hurts. Curiosity eats at me, and I end up peeking through the blinds out on the street.

I see him open the trunk of his car, fish for something in his bag, until he extracts a bottle of water with which he downs the pills. He remains by the car then, after he's shut the trunk, both hands on top of the car frame, his head down.

 _What is he doing?_

Before I can worry any more, his head snaps up and he glances at my window. My fingers release the blinds immediately.

 _Caught red handed. Ugh._

There isn't enough time for me to think about it because next thing I know, after hearing the door of his car open and close and the engine start, I'm rushing out the door.

I make it to the street in time, thankful that the car is still here, albeit running, with the windows up and him inside. He is in the driver's seat, his face hidden in his hands as he slouches forward, resting against the steering wheel.

"Edward?" My knuckles tap softly on the window.

His head snaps in my direction and he rolls the window down.

"What are you doing?" I stoop down, leaning on the window frame.

"I... I'm not sure." He doesn't look at me, but straight ahead instead while his hands rub over his face.

"Are you leaving?"

"I should go," he says into his hands.

"It's two in the morning. You're not going anywhere like this." I tentatively reach for his shoulder and clasp my fingers around it. "We'll drive back tomorrow morning."

He takes a deep breath and kills the engine as I remove my hand from his shoulder and step aside.

We walk in silence back to my building, side by side. I feel more than see him tense up on the first step.

"How long 'til the meds kick in?" I ask to try to distract us. I don't want to draw more attention to the fact that he's uncomfortable, but I wish I had a way to help him. If only I knew what was going on...

"Just a little longer." His tone is causal and his face is composed. He even smiles at me a little as he shrugs.

"Is this from the fall you took?" The wooden door of my building creaks when he opens it. Edward stays behind me, his arm, right above my head, holding the door open to allow me to go in first.

"Partially..." he elaborates as we go inside. I notice how his hand reaches for the stair railing as soon as we start going upstairs. "I have a recurring hip injury. The fall just added a bruise on top of that."

"Shouldn't you be resting then? Why did you play today?" I fail at not sounding worried. I want to ask him a thousand questions.

"It's not going to get better with rest. I need surgery."

"When are you having the surgery?"

"It depends," he says. "I want to make it to as many Champions League games as I can."

Ah, the Champions League... the most prestigious European club football tournament. For the years I have followed the team, they haven't really had luck in that competition.

"Could be May," he states with a smile, referring to the final, as if May is next week.

"May? That's five months away!"

"I know..." He smiles unapologetically, with that no big deal attitude, but his hand still grabs the rail tightly in contradiction. "We can't afford to have the surgery now."

I stare at him in disbelief. _How can they not afford it?!_

"Who's going to play right back?" He snorts playfully but I don't find it amusing at all.

This is ridiculous. He can't be forced to play because there is no one else on his team to play his position. "So you're going to play in pain for the rest of the season? What if it gets worse?"

"It won't get worse." He shrugs, but I catch his relieved exhale as he makes it to my floor. "It's not that bad, honestly. Today was just... intense."

"I don't know," I start, walking to my door. "Delaying a surgery just doesn't seem smart."

"It will be fine."

His voice is lost in a whisper as we stand in front of my door. Clanking and the whistling of the kettle can be heard from inside.

 _Oh shit..._

I find Emmett in the kitchen, in only his boxers, taking the kettle off the stove.

As I close the door, he turns to me... to us.

His hair is falling over his face — his eyes half open. I can see bed sheet marks all over his torso. The sight makes me smile.

"Bella, what the fuck?!"

I take the kettle from him and set it on the counter. "I'm sorry, I forgot."

"What are you- why were you..." He runs a hand down his face and groans. Then he just walks out of the kitchen and into the bedroom, refusing to care about anything else. I wouldn't be surprised he was half asleep.

With a sigh, I turn to Edward, who is still standing by the door, one hand on his hip, the other scratching the back of his head.

I glance at the bedroom quickly; I can already see Emmett's feet hanging from the edge of the bed. "Would you like some tea?" I ask Edward.

His eyes are on me when I turn back to him, he seems surprised by my offer, but nods nonetheless. I make chamomile tea for both of us. Edward remains quiet in the kitchen, while I serve two cups of the tea. As I hand him the cup, he gives me a tiny grin and we move out into the living room.

He sits carefully on one side of the couch, eyeing me sheepishly before stretching his leg over the couch and exhaling in relief.

I take a place on the chair next to him, hugging my knees to my chest and blowing on my tea.

"Thanks..." he starts. "For the tea."

"Maybe it would help us go back to sleep."

He shakes his head, taking a sip from the mug. "I can't ever sleep the night after a game. I don't know... too much adrenaline. Can't even keep my eyes closed long enough."

"Funny... Emmett is the same way, but the night before the game."

He looks down at the mention of Emmett's name and we fall into silence again.

"So..." he says. "What's keeping you up?"

"Hmm... nothing really... everything."

"I see..." The corners of his lips stretch in a smile, a couple lines digging in his cheeks flanking each side. "You're done with school now, though. I'm sure that's gotten some things off your head."

"Well, yeah... and added about a thousand more."

"An M.S is in Child Development, though… that's pretty impressive." He turns the mug in his hands, his eyes crinkling. "What's next?"

My eyes scrutinize him in surprise as my teeth attack my lip. I don't think Emmett even knows what my degree is in. "Um..." I move away from that thought quickly. "I've been applying for jobs. Actually, I have two offers already."

"Oh, that's great."

"Yeah, one is in Dortmund, for a small organization that deals mostly with local kids."

"Do you like that one?"

"Yeah... I mean it's in Dortmund."

"What about the other one?"

"The other one is in Munich." I feel my cheeks burn with the excitement of that possibility.

Edward notices right away. "And you like that one better?"

I nod at him. I do. I do like the other offer much better. "It's for IBG, I'd be coordinating the outdoor activities department."

"Wow... IBG? That's huge!"

My eyes stay on him as I sigh. "Yeah..." I shrug. "But it's in Munich."

"So what?"

"It's too far. If being here has been a hassle for me and Emmett, imagine living five hours away."

"I'm sure he'd understand. It's an amazing opportunity; IBG does some really great-"

I'm the one who snorts now — there is absolutely no way that Emmett in Dortmund and me in Munich would ever work out. "How do you and Rosalie do it?" I blurt out. I don't know much about them, since they always keep to themselves

His eyebrows raise, and he swings his leg off the couch to scoot forward and set the mug on the coffee table. He runs a hand on his hair before he rubs his palms on his thighs. "We don't."

"What do you mean?"

"It's over. It's been over for a while."

"Oh... I didn't know." I can't read the expression on his face, he won't let anything show.

"No one does. I like to keep my private life private," he adds dismissively. It's obvious he does not want to talk about this.

"I'm sorry." I look down embarrassedly, regretting bringing her up.

"It's okay..." He shrugs, resting his back on the couch and exhaling loudly. "It was too much for her, this life. Not everybody can deal with it as well as you do."

It's true; the kind of fame and scrutiny they are subjected to because of the sport they play can get very overwhelming at times. Football is a huge sport in Germany, as well as in all of Europe. It is why Emmett and I love travelling to the US, where he almost never gets recognized.

"You think I deal well with this?" A small laugh escapes my lips as I look back at him.

"You clearly do. And Emmett deals with a thousand times more press than I do. Still... You both seem to handle it well. You make him happy. You seem happy..." He pauses for a second, his eyes peeking through his lashes. "Are you happy?"

I try to subtly squeeze my hands between my thighs. I'm glad it's kind of dark so he doesn't see how nervous his question made me.

 _Why?_

 _Why would he even ask that?_

"I love him. Does it matter whether I'm happy?"

He looks at me as if it's the stupidest thing he's ever heard. "Isabella, it has always been about you being happy."

I stare at him again. "What do you mean?"

He groans, shaking his head. "Nothing... It's late. We should try to go back to sleep."

His eyes beg me to drop it, to not ask any further, and so I do, because I don't know if I really want to be digging for answers.

I take our mugs to the sink and stop in the living room again, on my way to the bedroom. He is still sitting, his hand rubbing his stretched leg.

"Are you feeling better?"

"Yeah..." he says reassuringly, dismissively, scooting forward and laying back on the couch. He doesn't seem to be in pain anymore, so I relax, and with a smile, walk back into my room.

The chamomile tea didn't help. I still find myself turning in bed, trying to remember if in the four years that I've known Edward, I've ever felt anything as close to the things I felt for him tonight. Apart from the first day we met, I come up empty handed.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5.

EPOV

It was our last game of the pre-season. We were still trying to get to know each other on the pitch, getting used to the new coach and the four American players he brought along with him. Emmett was the oldest of them at only twenty, and him and I just clicked immediately. We roomed together at the training camp the whole summer, so I guess that's really where our friendship began.

That September though, without even knowing it, I would make a decision based on our friendship that would haunt me for the next four years.

She was there before the game, just as a volunteer, helping with a group of local kids that were attending the game. We were still nobodies then, but professional footballers nonetheless, so the kids were still excited to see us.

She seemed so at ease, like being around children was where she belonged, and although the size of the group of kids was admittedly frightening, she handled them happily.

It looked overwhelming though — her arms flailing around the little ones swarming around her frame — yet she still seemed settled, grounded, totally in control. That was until one of them broke away from the group and into a run, darting in my direction.

I remember how thankful I was for the disobedient boy — he finally got her attention on me.

The boy carried a football in his arms, and I crouched in front of him while I signed it, whispering a quick thank you to him.

She was in front of us soon after, camera in hand. I gestured to the kid to pose for a picture, while my eyes remained on her and my lips stretched into a grin... for the picture, of course, but for her too.

As she lowered the camera, revealing her face, I knew I had been changed forever.

Her eyes were the warmest shade of brown to ever make a connection with mine. Once I stood up, I could not look away, I was paralyzed, and it felt, for a moment, so was she.

She pushed a lock of chocolate brown hair that had come loose from her ponytail behind her ear and smiled sweetly. As if on instinct, I took a step closer, extending my hand. "I'm Edward Cullen," I said lamely, pleasantly surprised I was able to find words under the scrutiny of her eyes.

"Hi, Edward." She smiled wider, a little blush spreading on her cheeks. She didn't seem to be wearing any makeup — I could detail the splattering of freckles all over her nose and cheeks.

My knees felt wobbly.

I had a thing for freckles at the time.

"Move along, Cullen." Coach's hands on my shoulder pushed me sideways, but I kept my eyes on her.

"What's your name?" I tried as Coach kept pushing me. It was time to get on the pitch.

I couldn't make out what she said through the noise of the crowd, nor could I read her lips, since her eyes would not release me. But I promised myself; I would focus on my game, and find her afterward.

I spotted her on the stands immediately, the thirty something kids in matching shirts helped. I felt as if her eyes were on me during the whole game. Granted it was unlikely, she could be watching anyone else, but it was very distracting nonetheless.

When I saw her again, on our way to the tunnel, I smiled at her — trying to contain my panting for a bit — tempted to just go talk to her. But it was crowded, and I was a sweaty, muddy, and gross out-of-breath mess. So I headed for the showers instead, a decision I would forever regret.

I skipped the icing and massages and just went straight to the showers, trying to calm myself down and gather enough courage to go talk to the brown-eyed girl. I had already decided I would invite her out for dinner. That day. It had to be. I had to know her.

I was sitting on the bench, finishing getting dressed, when Emmett smacked my shoulder, dropping in front of me. Kicking off his football boots off with a groan, he stretched his legs. "Guess who's got a hot date tonight?" His smile was broad, too big for his face.

"Is that why you haven't showered yet?" I said, shaking my head.

He rolled his eyes at me, peeling his shirt off and throwing it in my direction. "This is important!"

"I met someone too. It might just be our lucky day..." I dodged the sweat-drenched thing with my hand and a disgusted grunt. "So, who did you meet?"

"The girl I'm going to marry."

"You know, for a twenty-year old, you say that a lot." I shook my head at him with a chuckle, having heard this story too many times before.

"This time I mean it. You've gotta meet this girl... I mean... she's... there's just something about her, man."

As I watched the look on his face, a feeling developed in my stomach, like I already knew whom he was talking about. Slowly but surely the smile dropped from my face, and as he described her, my doubts were confirmed... it had to be her.

I mean how many other "tiny little firecracker on a kindergarten tour" could there be out there?

He might have added a few inappropriate comments about her behind in those jeans, but that's neither here nor there.

At any rate, when he finally left to shower, I stayed on the bench instead of going outside to go meet — and ask out — the brown-eyed girl who was most definitely going to be Emmett's date instead of mine.

Walking away from her didn't feel like a great sacrifice at the time. I guess I hoped they wouldn't hit it off, or that Emmett would move on quickly, like he usually did. But how was I to know that wouldn't happen? What was I to do when it didn't?

When we came out of the locker rooms, she was still there, and I knew it even before Emmett dragged me in her direction. There was no way he would move on. Who would?

"Bella," Emmett started. "This is my buddy, Cullen."

"Edward," I added, unable to not smile at her.

Her eyes crinkled as she extended her hand to me. "Hi, Edward, I'm Isabella."

 _Isabella..._

My hand tingled as our palms touched, and I could have been imagining things but I could have sworn she took a sharp intake of breath. "Isabella... hi..."

"He's usually a lot more eloquent than this..." Emmett laughed, smacking my shoulder.

Her laugh was tiny, as she looked down.

Our bus driver caught our attention then. It was time to go.

"I will call you later," Emmett told Isabella. She smiled and nodded, but then her eyes landed on mine.

I nodded at her briefly, politely, and I think I smiled. At least I tried to, before I turned my back to her and moved along. For good...

Emmett caught up with me, one arm around my shoulder. "She's great, isn't she?"

I nodded, scratching my neck.

"Did you notice her eyes?"

How could I not... It was one of the first things I noticed.

"God, I can't wait for tonight!" He said excitedly. "Where's your girl?"

"She's gone..."

It didn't make sense to be pinning over her then. It still doesn't make sense now. Yet here I am, on her couch, failing to find a comfortable position in which my hip doesn't hurt while all I can think about is her, on that bed, with him.

Coming here was a bad idea. Driving for two hours was definitely a mistake. Staying afterward was the biggest one yet.

Seeing her smile when we got here — when he got here — was definitely worth it though.

I wasn't lying when I said it's always been about her being happy. I've kept my distance from her, for four years. It hasn't been easy, especially being so close to Emmett, but I've had a lot of time to get it mastered.

I've always told myself that she's happy this way — with him — that she makes him happy, and that they are in love. But as of late, the way he treats her has declined profoundly. I've spoken to him about it... several times.

I even had to convince him to come to her graduation for Christ's sake! Offer to drive, when I can't sit for long without hurting, because otherwise he would not have made it.

Seeing him yell at her that day on the field, after she comes time and time again to his games, did something in me. I lost it. I had to ask her — check if she was okay — and she wasn't... she isn't.

And now I don't know what to do, but one thing is certain — I can't seem to be able to stay away from her.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

A/N: Still with me?


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: This might be triggering to some. If you're not sure, I'll answer any questions you may have. Otherwise, see you at the bottom.

Chapter 6.

In my light sleep, I wake up to a faint noise in the bathroom. I take a deep breath, untangling my legs from Emmett's, as his arm surrounds my waist and he pulls my back to his chest.

"Not yet..." he whispers in my ear.

"Don't you have rehabilitation today?"

"Mmmhmmm" His nose nuzzles under my ear as he plants kisses on the back of my neck.

"Well, then we have to get going." I run a hand over his arm, getting it off of me.

"Five more minutes, please..."

I turn to him with a smile and kiss the side of his face. "Okay," I say, getting up. He pulls my pillow to his chest as I head for the door.

In the living room, Edward is bent at the waist, in front of the couch, zipping his bag. As he hears me come out, his head snaps up and he straightens himself, turning to look at me.

He looks freshly showered and sharp, even in last night's clothes. His coppery hair is lightly gelled, and his face is clean shaved. His hands go into his pockets as he slowly smiles at me.

"Hey..." I whisper, my voice still raspy with sleep.

"Good morning, Isabella." His tone is calm and soothing, as he holds the little grin in place. His posture contradicts him though, his hands still in his pockets, his shoulders tense.

I might be making this more than it should be, but there's something very awkward about this encounter. I look down, subconsciously fixing my hair, feeling a bit nervous all of the sudden.

The ringing of my phone startles me, and I rush to it, flying past Edward, who remains stoic in my living room.

"Hello?" I turn to Edward, who is looking at me. "Yes, this is she..." I know who this is immediately; it's one of the IBG secretaries. It just adds to my already shaky nerves. "Yes, yes, I am aware of that," I say when she reminds me they are still waiting on my answer. "No... I haven't, but I will get back to you as soon as possible."

Edward's eyebrows rise minimally, as he figures out who this is. "Thank you..." I say into the phone and hang up.

I put the phone down carefully, taking a deep breath. They're going to withdraw their offer. I need to give them an answer soon.

Shit, I need to talk to Emmett about this.

"Is everything okay?" Edward's voice brings me back to this moment.

"Yeah... yes..." I answer hurriedly, trying futilely to avoid his eyes. "Everything's fine." I wave him off.

He doesn't say anything. He doesn't have to. His eyes speak for him. He knows.

"I better go wake Emmett up..." I add dismissively, hurrying back.

"Hey..." His hand reaches for my arm, but after the smallest amount of contact, he drops it. "You should talk to him, Isabella. It's a great opportunity. He will understand."

His tone is soft, not judgy or pushy, but his words weigh too much. A lump sets in my stomach, because I really doubt Emmett would understand.

I only manage a weak nod to Edward, before I make my escape to the bedroom.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

Emmett insists that I ride back with them so that I could spend some time with him in Dortmund. It's not a bad idea. I'm all done with classes, and it will give me some time to figure out how and when to talk to him about Munich.

Edward demands to drive, despite the dark circles under his eyes, which clearly indicate a sleepless night. Emmett makes no notice of it, and I try not to intercede. It is his car they came in, after all.

As soon as his head touches the headrest, Emmett falls asleep. Edward's eyes keep darting to me through the rearview mirror, which tells me that something is bothering him — whatever it is, he does not say — and except for some casual, unimportant chit chat, and Emmett's soft snoring, we make a silent return to Dortmund.

They drop me off at Emmett's apartment as they head for training and rehabilitation. Despite Emmett's promises, I end up spending the day, and most of the night, by myself. I catch up on some reading, call my mother, and end up falling asleep on the couch, where Emmett finds me when he returns from 'whatever he had to do with Jake'.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

On Tuesday, Emmett and I finally have the night to ourselves. We have dinner, and walk hand in hand back to his apartment. They have a derby game coming up and then two important qualifying games for the Champions League Tournament. It's the farthest they've ever been in that competition, and he's incredibly excited about it. They all are. We all are.

I let him get it all out but when we get home, he sits to watch yet another game of their biggest rivals in preparation for the derby, for the hundredth time. I sit beside him, hunched over my knees, and face him. Gathering up the courage to talk to him about this is way harder than I thought.

"Hey..." I run my fingers on his arm until I reach his hand. He clasps his fingers around mine instinctively, but his focus remains on the screen. "You know I've been applying for jobs..."

"Mmmmhmmm..." He sits forward, closer to the screen. "What a stupid foul!" he yells at the TV.

"Em, can you listen to me for a second?"

"Babe, something will come up, don't worry. Want me to talk to my mom, see if she can find you something with Sky?"

 _Ugh... God..._

His mother is a sports journalist, who works for Sky networks. What he presumes I could do there, I have no idea.

"No, Emmett. I kind of have an offer already from IBG."

He snorts, without looking at me. "That's in Munich..." His hand rubs my knee slightly. "Oh, come on, ref! What an asshole!"

"I know it's in Munich," I continue, even though he is obviously not paying any attention to me. "Still, I'd be in charge of the outdoors department and-"

"That's five hours away!" he half-laughs.

"I know... but... I really want it. I think I'd be great for it."

He finally tears his eyes from the TV and looks at me. "Bella, please, can we talk about this another time?"

I sigh, looking down and scratching my forehead. There is never a good time. He comes closer, reaching for my chin with his hand. He pulls on it with his fingers, forcing me to look at him.

"I really can't think about this right now. We have the derby coming up, qualifiers next. Do you know what's at stake for us? This is our season, babe, to prove ourselves. We have all of our eggs in this one basket and..." he trails off.

"I know, Em, I know."

"Then why are you doing this? Just give me until the end of the season, babe, then we can talk."

"They won't hold the job for me until the summer. What am I supposed to do until then?"

His hand drops from my chin to my waist and he pulls me to his lap. "You don't need a job, baby, come on. Stay here with me, Bella, please."

I push off of him with a hand on his chest, and he sighs when I stand up in front of him. "I've been following you for four years, Emmett. Went to school in Frankfurt instead of Berlin just so I could be closer to you. Now it's time I do something for me... I need this."

"You want to move five hours away?" he howls, getting up from the couch as well. "Is that what you need?!"

"I mean, it is unfortunate that the job is in Munich, yes, but it is a very exciting opportunity for me!"

He starts pacing, back and forth, in front of me. I can feel his anger getting the best of him. I don't know why I even brought it up.

"Don't get angry, please, just try to understand."

He turns to me and just one look in his eyes and I know I won't like what will come out of his mouth. "Honestly, Bella, I don't understand why you're bringing this up right now. You know how much pressure I am in! Don't you know what this means for me... for us?!"

He races for the door before I can say anything. I follow him as he fumbles with his jacket, rummaging for something. "Where the hell are my keys?!"

"Did you check your pocket?"

He shoves his hand into the pocket of his pants, fishing out the keys with a groan.

"I'll be back later," he says, barely glancing at me from the door. "I need some air," is the only explanation I get, and then he disappears, slamming the door behind him.

I've thought a lot about this. About us, where we are, and where our relationship is going. If Emmett can't support me on this decision, what is there for me in his future? Am I always going to be, what, second, third in his life?

 _I want more. I deserve more._

An hour goes by, then two, until I finally hear his keys. I walk out to the living room and there he is, setting a box on the floor, soaking wet from head to toes.

"What happened?"

He looks at me and a tentative smile appears on his face. He comes closer then, his shoes squishing on the floor, as he drips.

"I'm sorry I stormed out," he says, lowering himself to me, bringing my lips to his. "I brought you something."

I grab on his arm and notice he's trembling. "Emmett, please get out of these clothes. You must be freezing."

He rolls his eyes at me dismissively and grabs my hand as he moves us back to the box he set on the floor. He crouches next to it and looks up at me with a smile.

He opens the box excitedly.

"Oh my God!"

In the box sits the most adorable, wrinkliest, creature I have ever seen. With light brown and white fur, and a face so fluffy that makes me want to hold it to my face.

"You got me a puppy?!" I'm on my knees, holding the pup, as it licks my face.

"I got us a puppy, Bella, to live here, with both of us."

I realize then where he is going with this. This is his way of fixing things. "Em..."

"Bella, please..." He's on his knees, in front of me, and brings the puppy away from my face and back in the box. "I'm trying here..." His face is on my neck then, his nose behind my ear.

"You're not, though... How is a puppy going to change anything?"

"C'mon, don't do this..." He drops kisses behind my ear, trailing down my neck. His hand is on the other side of my neck too, working his way down.

"Em..."

His lips silence me while his hands pull me to him by my hip as he lifts both of us up. My legs go around him instinctively, and my hands cup his face. He's cold and shivering.

"Em," I break away from the kiss. "We need to get you out of these clothes."

"That's the plan, babe."

By the time he gets us on the bed, my shirt is lost somewhere behind us, and he is already half naked as well. He places his lips on my neck, while his hand makes its way down.

Emmett's kisses are heavenly, or at least they used to be. He takes his time and he knows what I like, but tonight, his lips are not igniting me the way they used to... the way I'd like them to. There's just too much on my mind.

With his fingers inside of me, and his lips on my neck, I close my eyes and try to forget — try to enjoy this — but I can't, I am numb.

When I reach between us, and my fingers circle around him, he grunts in my ear. I align myself with him, position him right there, where I know he wants to be.

"Not yet..." he whispers, his voice controlled. I've got a good grip on him as I stroke and move him up and down my entrance.

His eyes find mine. He seems confused. He likes to wait for me, but I just know it's not happening for me tonight.

"I'm ready..." I say. "It's okay."

I push my hips forward, and he closes his eyes. I pull his face to mine and kiss him, biting his bottom lip like I know he likes. He groans as he sinks into me. The sound is low and needy, and I know that tonight, he won't last long inside of me.

I move with him, trying to get him going, but he's holding back. He's working my breasts, biting my neck... doing everything right, but I don't feel any of it.

"C'mon, Bella, let go for me..." he whispers in my ear. His voice strained. He's close.

I push on his shoulder slightly, it's just a gesture of course — I couldn't muster the amount of strength necessary to lift Emmett off of me. But he knows. He knows what I want.

He rolls us over so that I'm straddling him. It takes me a second to breathe and adjust to him filling me this way.

His hands clasp around my hips as he attempts to control my speed, or reign control of himself — I don't know — but a few rolls of my hips later, he's gasping for air, begging for me, falling apart at the seams.

I drop on his chest as he comes apart. His heart runs wild under my ear while I run my fingers absentmindedly over his arms, giving him what he needs to calm down.

After an hour or so, we break away from each other. We both shower, and while I return to bed, Emmett is back in the living room, watching the game, as if nothing had happened.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

A/N: *hides*


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7.

I eye the alarm clock on the nightstand with half-closed eyes. It's six in the morning, and Emmett is already rummaging around the room.

"Emmett, you haven't slept at all..."

"I'm okay." His voice is croaky and he sounds heavily congested as he breathes through his mouth while gathering his things.

I'm still sitting on his bed, in his shirt, watching him sniffle his way around the room.

"Can you even breathe?" I can't hide the worry that colors my tone.

The derby is tonight, the game against their biggest rivals, but he clearly caught a cold last night under the rain. I seriously doubt he should play as sick as he is.

"Bella, please..." He turns to me for a second. I know that look. This is the end of the discussion. "Get off my case. I just need some good meds. I'll be okay." He sniffles as he kisses my forehead.

I'm tempted to say something else, but I know he won't listen. He won't miss this game.

With a sigh, I collapse back on the bed, a terrible feeling creeping through me.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

I sit in the stands with the rest of the girls. I see Emmett warming up with the team, so I assume, despite everything, they're going to let him play.

The rain that is pouring down today will certainly not help.

The game is awful to watch, and after only twenty minutes they are already down by two. Both goals, pretty clearly, were Emmett's fault.

To make matters worse, a few minutes later, Emmett collides with one of the rival's players, both going for the ball with a sliding tackle, and as soon as he is up, I know.

He's hurt.

And he's pretending not to be.

I can tell from the tight set of his shoulders and how he clenches his arms as he tries not to limp.

He looks down, every other minute, at his right ankle.

How can Coach be so blind? I want to scream at him for not subbing him off. I want to scream at Emmett for waving off the medic staff... twice!

I breathe out in relief at the half time whistle, as I see the medics finally approach Emmett. At least they've noticed it too.

I know it's a long shot, but I still head down to the locker rooms to see if they'd let me in.

They don't.

Not while Coach is in there with them

I wait outside until they start coming out quickly, seemingly pumped for the second half of the game.

Edward comes out last, a little after the others. He has his jersey in his hands, his torso exposed, while one of the medics is still tightening tape around his right hipbone. He's looking down as the medic sticks the tape to his skin, a small wince on his face.

When he looks up, our eyes connect briefly. I know he has to hurry out.

"Are you all right?" I instinctively want to take a step closer to him, but the presence of the medic keeps me rooted into place.

He nods at me, after he puts his shirt back on. It's not a highly convincing nod, but I think it's the best I would get under the current situation.

"Is he coming back out?"

Edward gives me a sheepish look, shaking his head.

I stare at my feet with a sigh. I'm half relieved Emmett is not coming back out to play, half terrified of what that means.

My eyes get back to Edward as I catch his soft exhale. He eyes the medic who nods at him, and Edward swings the door to the locker rooms, holding it open for me. "He's in the infirmary," he adds, a bit breathless.

Once the medic and Edward leave, I hurry inside to find Emmett still on the examining table. His right ankle wrapped with ice packs. He's looking down, still breathing hard, his hair dripping onto the floor.

My heart breaks, he is completely shattered. "Oh, Em..." I say softly, coming to stand in front of him.

I expect him to start venting at me in a second, but he doesn't. Instead, his head drops on my shoulder as he sniffles, struggling to breathe through his nose. The fact that he is seeking comfort in me — instead of pushing me away like he usually would — tells me just how shattered he really is.

My hand reaches for his hair, trying to comfort him.

"He fears ligament tear," he starts into my shoulder. "Will do an MRI after the game." His voice almost gone.

"Let's wait for the results, okay? It will be okay."

He lifts his head but still looks down. "I made the whole thing worse by playing while it was hurting. I should have let him take me out... I... god..." He groans as his fingers rub his forehead. "I just wanted to help..."

I reach for him again, holding him to me. "It's okay, Em. It'll be okay."

The medic comes back in, and Emmett straightens his pose, sitting up. "I'll be on the bench for the 2nd half." Emmett clears his throat, looking at me. "Meet you after?"

That's officially my cue to go, so I nod at him with a sigh and leave.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

Emmett does not say a word on our ride back home after the game. He refuses my help as we get out of the car, and stubbornly limps his way to the door. The MRI revealed his ligaments are not torn, but strained. Still, he'll be out for three to four weeks, and miss at least one of the Champions League games.

Against my better judgment, I decide to stay in Dortmund and try to help for the next few weeks.

I end up calling IBT, asking for more time. They say they can't guarantee not hiring someone else. I still can't accept the position. I couldn't do that to Emmett while he's injured and already going through so much. I end up, yet again, pushing my dreams aside for him, hoping the opportunity would still be there when he's better.

His strict rehabilitation schedule leaves not much for me to do. Emmett is barely home as it is, spends all day at rehab and the gym, trying to speed up his recovery as much as possible.

I spend most of the day with Wrinkles, our puppy, and I think.

And think.

My mind is made up for me though, when he's interviewed on TV before a game. I'm at the apartment by myself, with the puppy. Emmett is at the game, with his brother, Riley. He insisted I join them, but I know how much he treasures the time with his brother, so I stayed home instead.

During the interview he talks about his injury and they ask him about his brother, and their close relationship. However, it's only towards the end, when they ask him about us and if there'll be wedding bells soon given how long we've been together.

"Football is my life, my main priority," he says. "That's the only thing I'm focused on right now." You can see it in his eyes, how dead serious he is. "Yeah, she's great. She doesn't get in the way of football, which is what I need."

I don't get in the way?

 _What does that even mean?_

The words play over and over in my head throughout the game, to the point that, at the end, I don't even know what the score is.

All of my focus goes through the window, and I can't think about anything else. For a moment, the job in Munich doesn't even matter. For four years, I've been in the shadow of his career. All this time, I've given up everything just to be on the sidelines, not interfering with the most important thing in his life?

Luck seems to be on my side, for once. When I call the IBT secretary on an impulse to ask if the position is still available, it turns out it is, and I accept it at once.

I manage to compose myself enough to start dinner. When Riley drops Emmett at home, he's in a semi-good mood. I'm guessing they probably won, but he's still annoyed that he couldn't play.

"I already ate, babe." He kisses the side of my face on his way to the TV. He flops on the couch and turns on the highlights of the game.

"Emmett?" My voice is strained with the force of keeping myself together. He has spent most of the day away from me, and he barely even acknowledges me when he comes in, instead opting to focus on highlights of a game he just witnessed... live.

"Yeah..."

"I'm taking the job in Munich." I have no time or patience to sugar coat things.

"Okay." He laughs at the screen. "Did you see Jake's goal? What a beauty!"

He's smiling when he turns his face to me. My hand grips around the knife handle. My other hand trembles, while holding the chicken cutlet.

His face changes, a little frown appears on his forehead. Finally, he has noticed me.

"Did you even hear what I said?" I ask, trying to somehow contain the anger from my voice.

"Sorry, babe, I didn't..." He turns the volume down as he gets up from the couch. "Are you okay?"

I sigh, placing the knife down and moving to the sink to wash my hands. "Em, I'm leaving."

He blinks a couple times as the words sink in. He opens his mouth, once, twice, until finally some words come out. "What do you mean leaving?"

I can't contain the exasperated sigh that leaves my lips, nor do I try to. "I'm moving... to Munich."

"What?!" A panicked look settles across his face as he runs his hands through his hair. He looks away for a moment, before settling his gaze right back on me. As if he's afraid that if he lets me out of his sight, I'll be gone forever.

"I've accepted IBG's offer."

"Bella, c'mon…"

"It's done." I try for stern, but my voice breaks anyways when the truth of my statement hits me.

"What about the puppy?"

"Really, Emmett? You think Wrinkles is what will keep me here? You think it's what should keep me here?"

"I... I..." He pulls on his hair, looking down.

"You really have no clue, do you?"

When his eyes meet mine, my heart breaks. He really has no idea of what's coming. This will hurt, but I have to do it.

I take a deep breath before everything comes pouring out. "I feel trapped, Emmett. And it's not just about the job in Munich, but feeling like I should stay here, for you... it's too much. It's not fair. And I love you, Em, I do. I always will. And I want what's best for you... But I need... I need to be my priority for a while."

"What is it you want though? You want us to get married? I'll get you a ring, Bella, I promise."

I look at him and I lose it at the determination shining in his eyes. He'd do it, just like Wrinkles, he'd get me a ring if it means that I'll stay here with him.

The tears start flowing then, because it's so typical of him, to drop something like that, when due to his parent's divorce, marriage has never been on his plans.

"Of course not... Not like this." I try wiping my tears in vain as he comes closer. Of course I've thought about marrying Emmett in the four years we've been together, but I couldn't be further from the feeling at this moment.

His hand reaches for my cheek, his eyebrows scrunched in the middle. "Are you not happy?"

I close my eyes as my tears spill and slowly shake my head.

"I want you to be happy." He holds me close to him, my face buried in his chest as his arms surround my neck and he kisses the top of my head. "I want to make you happy, but this is who I am, Bella. Football is my life. I... I don't know how to be more for you."

"You shouldn't have to." I wipe my face, moving away from him. If I allow myself to touch him, hold him, feel him in my arms... I'll succumb.

"Is this it then?"

"I'm so sorry," I cry.

He starts his pacing, running his hand through his hair. "When would you leave?"

"I start Monday."

He stops dead in his track, slowly turning to look at me, shock written all over his face. "What?! This Monday? IN TWO DAYS?"

I nod at him, tears streaming down my cheeks.

"When did you call them?"

"Today."

He stares at me for a few seconds that feel like hours. He's pissed, but lurking under all that anger all I see is pain and regret. He looks at me and I can see four years flashing behind them. I wonder what he sees.

 _Does he get it now?_

 _Will he ever understand why I need this?_

I never get my answer though. My heart sinks to my stomach as he turns around and in the next second he's out the door.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

A/N: Aaaand there he goes. How are we feeling?

There might not be a chapter on Thursday since I'll be cooking a 20 pound bird! I could be bribed though ;)


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8.

I spend the next two hours packing my things, or at least trying to. I didn't think leaving Emmett would be easy, but looking at how much the apartment reflects our relationship, makes it so much harder.

After much debating, I buy a train ticket to Frankfurt for the night, and pour my inadequate words in a letter to Emmett. It's not ideal, but there really isn't much more to say.

I need to do this.

 _I am doing this._

I hope in time he will understand.

Tears never stop falling from my eyes, and I make no attempt to hold them back, as I start picking up the mess of our unfinished dinner in the kitchen.

When my cell phone rings, I try my best at keeping my voice even when I pick up without looking at the screen. I hold my phone with my shoulder, while my hands are in the sink, finishing the dishes. "Hello?"

"Isabella? Hi..." His voice is soft and a little unsure. It's unmistakably him, but he still clarifies. "It's Edward."

"Hey..." is my clipped response. I shouldn't have answered the phone in the first place.

"Hey, um... I missed a call from Emmett earlier and he sounded, um, distressed? I'm trying to get back to him but he's not answering..." He's eerily calm, but his tone is hinged with a bit of worry. "Is he there? Is everything okay?"

I silently urge myself over and over to keep it together — to get through this call as quickly as possible.

Edward has no idea what went on here. He doesn't have to know.

I bite my lips as I try not to cry.

"Isabella?" The concern in his voice breaks me.

I can't do this. I can't explain. I can't lie to him. Not with the lump in my throat that makes it even harder to breath.

I decide to just hang up, and as I do, the knife I was rinsing slips from my fingers, slashing the palm of my hand open in the process.

"Shit!" The phone clangs as it falls on the floor while I rinse my hand with water. The gash seems deep, and it's bleeding profusely. I wrap a kitchen towel around it, keeping pressure on it, as I can see blood seeping through the fabric. "God!"

I sink on the floor, my breaths catching in my throat as I sob.

My phone starts ringing again but I don't answer, even as it goes off five more times.

I barely manage to calm down enough to replace the towel and call a cab. My head is swimming, but I try to focus on just getting myself in that cab and to the hospital.

I grab my purse and put the first shoes I find on. I fling the door open but halt mid-step as Edward is standing right in front of me.

"Isabella, what's-" His hand is raised in front of him in a fist, as if he was about to knock. When his eyes fly to my hand, still wrapped in a bloody towel, he sets his arm around me, and holds my hand with his other hand.

Relief washes through me for not having to do this alone, and my body just acts on its own from then on. My head rests on his shoulder and my eyes close.

He holds me tighter, taking some of my weight in his arms, and he doesn't speak as he steers me to his car, only a soft shush in my ear.

He helps me into the car, clasping the seatbelt over me. Pretty soon, we're off to the hospital and he remains seemingly focused on the road as we go. He does not say a word as he drives, leaving me to my own tears.

When we arrive, everything happens in a blur. I'm being rushed here and there, given some pills to swallow and then suddenly I'm on a hospital bed with someone stitching my numb hand.

I don't realize I'm holding Edward's hand, until I see our fingers intertwined. My knuckles are white with the force I'm using to hold on to him. My eyes find his and he smiles shyly at me. It's a friendly smile, but I can see it in his eyes, he's uncomfortable.

I release the death grip on his hand and he exhales, taking a step back.

The resident finishes my hand and says he'll give me a little time, to make sure I'm not faint anymore, so they can let me go.

When he leaves, my eyes find Edward, who has now put the biggest distance the room allows between us. He leans against the wall, one hand on his hip. He looks exhausted.

It's only then I realize he has played a game today, and yet he's here, taking care of me at this late hour in the night.

"Hey, um... Emmett will be here any second," I lie. "He was out with... um... Riley. But he's on his way now. It's okay, you should go." I can still feel the tears prick the corner of my eyes.

"Are you sure you're okay?" He seems uncertain, like he doesn't know what to do. It's obvious he needs to go.

I try nodding, but I'm failing once again at keeping my tears away.

"Why are you still crying?" He comes closer, one hand on my cheek as his thumb wipes away my tears. "Are you in pain? Should I call the nurse?"

I shake my head, wiping some tears myself, sitting up on the table.

"I'll stay until Emmett gets here, okay? Don't worry," he says sweetly.

I push with a hand on his chest, avoiding his eyes. "You should go. It's fine. I'm fine."

His hand surrounds mine over his chest. I can feel his heart beating faster inside of him, and when my eyes find his, he is staring right at me.

"He's not coming, is he?"

I can only manage to shake my head at him, trying so hard not to break down. But it's too much. Everything that's happened today is just too much.

His expression changes then, to one of anger, as he lets go of my hand and reaches for his phone.

I realize then what this must look like to him.

He really has no idea. For all I know, he's probably thinking that Emmett knows I'm hurt and chooses not to come.

 _Oh God..._

"Edward, no." I'm off the table, reaching for his hand, peeling the cell phone from his ear, tears now freely falling down my face.

He eyes me warily as he presses the end call button. "Isabella, what's going on?"

"He doesn't know I'm here."

"Why not?" His eyebrows furrow, puzzled by my statement.

"I... I took the job in Munich. We broke up." My voice is barely a whisper under Edward's stare. His eyes search mine, finally connecting the dots of what went on tonight.

Silence surrounds us for a couple seconds until his cell phone starts ringing and we both look at the screen.

It's Emmett.

 _Shit._

Edward takes a deep breath in front of me, staring at Emmett's name flashing on the screen of his cell phone ringing in one hand. He scratches his neck nervously, until he finally answers it.

"Hey..." He walks a little away from me. "Yeah... are you okay?" His eyes move to me briefly, as he listens. "Okay... All right."

He hangs up and I stare at him. "He's... um... okay, I guess. Still out drinking."

"By himself?" Worry seeps through me. Emmett out drinking by himself after what happened earlier would not be the best thing right now, for any of us.

"I don't know, Isabella." Edward looks down, rubbing his forehead.

"I'm sorry..." I touch my fingers to his arm, and he peeks up at me. I hate that I've put him through this. Emmett is his friend, his best friend. And he's here trying to deal with his friend's ex, like it is somehow his responsibility to run to my rescue and pick up my pieces. He is clearly exhausted, fed up, possibly sore and/or in pain. I need to give him an out. "I... I'll take a cab to the train station, okay? You've done so much for me already. Thank you."

"Train station?" His eyebrows shoot up in surprise, as if it's the most inconceivable thing he's ever heard. "You... you're leaving tonight?"

"What else am I going to do, Edward? I missed my train, but hopefully I can get another one tonight or tomorrow morning."

"You're not going to spend the night at the train station." His words are final — he leaves no room for argument, but I still try...

"I can't- I can't stay with Emmett." My eyes start filling with tears again.

 _God, what a mess!_

Edward hesitates in front of me, his eyes shifting from me to behind my shoulder, as he's deep in thought. I catch his hand, rubbing on his hip, as he takes a deep breath before speaking. "I'll drive you."

"Absolutely not, you've done enough, Edward." My voice is not as severe as his, and he's about to refute me but he doesn't get the chance when the resident comes back inside with release forms for me to sign.

After I've signed the release forms and the doctor is gone, Edward moves closer to me again. "Please, let me drive you." His eyes bore in to mine and I can't imagine managing saying no to him. So, I just nod in response, and with much effort, break his gaze to gather my things and myself to go.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

A/N: Welp! Who is looking forward to that drive?


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9.

Edward and I drive back from the hospital to Emmett's place to get my stuff, and my puppy, Wrinkles. Edward waits in the car as I go upstairs, get my bag, and come back down.

I'm holding the puppy in my arms once I'm down again, and Edward gets out of the car and opens the trunk for me, taking my bag from my shoulder as well. He eyes the puppy, one eyebrow raised.

"Don't ask..." I say through a soft giggle.

Edward smiles, running his fingers softly over the dog's head.

"Wrinkles, Edward. Edward, this is Wrinkles," I introduce.

"Wrinkles? That's fitting." He smiles again, shaking his head while I chuckle.

"Bella, what the fuck?!"

Caught up in the moment, we did not hear the vehicle pull up, and when Edward and I both turn, Emmett is already stumbling out of a cab across from us. In a couple strides, he's right in front of me, pulling Wrinkles' travel bag from my hand.

"Dammit, Bella, wait a second... let's talk this through."

He drops the bag on the street, frantically heading for the trunk, stumbling into Edward who stands there paralyzed.

Emmett gets my suitcase from the trunk and walks back to me, grabbing my arm. "Bella, please… You're not leaving tonight, c'mon!"

"Emmett, stop... " I cry, holding Wrinkles to my chest.

Within seconds, Emmett's hands are no longer on me, and I am left staring at Edward's back. He has a hand outstretched away from him and braced on Emmett's chest. The strain of the muscles in his back and shoulders is evident under his shirt, as his hands bar Emmett from taking another step.

"Emmett, don't do this." Edward's tone is sharp in anger. He reaches his other hand behind him, to me, keeping a connection with my arm. "You're drunk and not thinking straight. She wants to go and you are going to let her."

I peek around Edward to see that beneath his palm, Emmett's chest expands heavily with the force of his harsh breaths. When Emmett's eyes finally meet mine, they seem apologetic. He takes one step back, lowering his head, cursing under his breath.

Edward relaxes in front of me and lets go of my arm. He takes my bag back into the trunk and then moves closer to Emmett, gripping his elbow. "Let's get you upstairs."

Edward's eyes glance at me briefly, pinning me into place. "Please, stay here?" he begs, and then they're both gone.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

I sit in the car with Wrinkles asleep on my lap. Edward drives in silence through the dark roads, shifting frequently in his seat. He avoids conversation every time I start it, so I lose myself in thought, staring at the trees flying by through the window.

Thankfully, the two-hour drive goes by in a heartbeat and it's raining in Frankfurt when we pull up to my place.

With a hand on the door handle, I turn to him. His face is controlled, serious but calmed. His eyes though, they scream a million things at me. "Um... thank you for driving me, Edward," I say softly. All I get from him is a fifth of a smile and a nod. "Well... not just driving but everything."

His hands grip the steering wheel tightly as he continues to try to smile to me. When he turns his head from me, I can see a wince set on his features as he quickly gets out of the car.

I follow his lead, trying to cover Wrinkles from the rain with my jacket. Edward already has my bag out when I reach the trunk of the car.

I grab the bag from him, unable to say goodbye just yet, even under the rush of the pelting rain. "Are you sure you don't want to come in for a bit... you know, stretch your legs... maybe have some coffee for the way back?"

"I'm fine, Isabella," he says, shutting the trunk. "I should get going. It's already very late."

"Okay... well... um... goodbye." My arms reach for him awkwardly. A weight settles on my stomach, not knowing if or when I will see him again. I guess it never occurred to me that I wouldn't be just breaking up with Emmett, but with the whole team, the whole family.

They're his friends. This is his life. If he doesn't want me in it after this, then that's it.

I hug myself tighter to Edward at the realization, my eyes filling with tears. And even though his arms don't hug me back, his body bends with mine, enveloping me in his warmth. His head tilts into my neck and I can feel his breath, coming through his nose, on my skin.

It's almost too much.

I let go of him, stumbling back. "Please, be careful on your way back," I let out, before I turn around and rush into my building without looking back.

The door of the building clicks behind me as I halt, once out of the rain.

I'm not even sure why I'm panting, but I need a minute to catch my breath. I set my bag and Wrinkles on the floor and rest with my back against the door, waiting a few seconds for my heart to slow down so I can head upstairs.

My heart jumps in my chest as the knock on the door behind me startles me. I turn to find Edward, standing on the other side of the glass door, looking down and drenched in rain.

As I fling the door open he shoots me a glance, his eyes dark and piercing.

"What's wrong?"

He moves forward, as if to come inside, but his hands grab onto each side of the doorframe, either helping him upright or restricting his access. He looks down again, kicking one of the steps with a groan.

When his eyes meet mine, my stomach flutters. I've always had a soft spot for his eyes — They often convey so much he doesn't say. "I just need to say one thing."

"Okay, but please come in... You're getting soaked!" I reach for his hand on the doorframe but he pulls back, both hands reaching for the back of his head.

He is shaking his head, his eyes full of anguish; a little scrunch deepening between his eyebrows.

"What is it?" I step out and he takes another step back. "Edward?"

"Nothing..." he finally says, breathing out harshly. "I... just..." He closes the distance between us and his hands hold my face and his lips meet my forehead. "Just take care of yourself out there, okay?" Then, with a deep breath, he's gone.

My mouth falls open and a pressure bundles in my chest as I stare at his back while he jogs to the car. I'm pretty much stunned into place as the last few seconds run through my mind over and over again. His fingers on my cheek, lips at my temple, a burning message on the tip of his tongue — a message which he adamantly refuses to tell.

I can't let him walk away without giving him another chance to speak his mind.

"Edward," I call, even though he's already opening the door of his car.

The rain pelts on me as I walk back out but he doesn't turn to look at me. "Is that really what you wanted to say?"

His hand grips the edge of the car door tighter. I see his shoulder move with a shuddering breath, before letting go and finally turning to face me. He still looks down as he takes a deep breath. "Yes," he says, finally looking up. His eyes say otherwise. "Just..." he stalls.

Against my better judgment, and without my permission, my body edges closer, coming between him and the door. "What?"

"Just don't disappear."

"I won't," I say wholeheartedly.

He breathes in relief, a small smile tugging at his lips. "Okay... now get inside, please. I don't want you to get sick, and I really need to go."

I hug him again, my arms around his waist. This time, his hand runs over my hair as I bury my face in his chest.

"Please..." he whispers into my hair. I can feel his hand fisting the back of my shirt, but then, with a soft groan, he drops it at his side.

I look up at him, wishing I knew what he was asking or why saying goodbye to him is so hard. Would it be too much if I asked him to stay with me? He looks completely drained and the thought of him having to drive back by himself at this hour eats at my conscience.

However, the struggle in his eyes begs me not to ask him to stay, so I don't. Instead, I hold myself to him for an extra second and then force my arms to let go.

I can't keep the tears much longer, especially under his gaze. So with a shaky smile and a little wave, I turn around and dart through the rain back into the building, without another look back.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

A/N: Welp! Did anyone expect a kiss there? Let me know what you think, I love reading your reviews!


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10.

EPOV

So, I'm fucked.

Wrecked.

Done.

I've been a fool for thinking I could somehow stay away from her. Or what's worse, be close to her without hurting, without breaking, without feeling.

Just today I almost slipped again.

I wanted to tell her... so bad.

 _Tell her what, though, that I'm in love?_

 _Am I in love with her?_

 _I can't be._

I lost my chance when I let Emmett have her. I have to live with that. I've been living with that for the past four years!

I knew something was wrong as soon as she answered the phone. I debated with myself whether to call or not. I didn't think much of Emmett's message at first. He said he needed to vent, that he wanted a drink. I thought he was spending time with his brother, so I didn't call him back until I was done with the medics. I was going to turn him down anyway, since I was tired and sore after the game, but he never answered.

That's when I got worried. I wouldn't have called Isabella otherwise.

I didn't even realize I had changed directions by the mere sound of her broken voice, and I was no longer driving to my place but to Emmett's instead.

I had to see her. I had to make sure she was okay.

I was just about to knock when she swung the door open. Once my eyes settled on the blood soaked towel wrapped around the palm of her hand, nothing else mattered — I had to get her help.

I didn't think, couldn't really imagine, what taking care of her would do to me.

I always wanted more…

When I touched her, I wanted to hold her.

When she leaned on to me, I wanted to carry her in my arms.

When she held on to my hand, I wanted to kiss her.

Every single time, I wanted more.

But I can't have more.

It's never going to be okay for me to go after her. It's the reason I had never said anything in the first place. Emmett is my friend — my best friend — my teammate, my brother. This would kill him. I could never do it. That's not me. I'm not that guy.

 _He loves her._

I've never seen him so out of control as he was tonight. Even in his drunken state, he begged me to take care of her — to drive her home and make sure she was okay.

Not that he needed to ask, really. The decision had already been made. What other choice did I have? Take her to my apartment? I did not trust myself enough at the moment, and rightly so... I barely managed as it was.

I came so close; I wanted to kiss her so badly, and I almost did. I almost kissed her.

 _Her! His girl!_

I had to physically restrain myself with both hands braced against the doorframe to barely maintain control. She made it harder, every time she came closer, digging for answers, trying to get it out of me.

 _God!_

I bang my fist on the steering wheel as I drive back to Dortmund, shifting on my seat, trying to find a position in which my hip doesn't hurt. It's all in vain. With each passing week it is becoming harder to ignore the fact that my hip is getting worse. Now it's not only painful after intense games, but also generally uncomfortable all the time.

I considered it briefly, before offering to drive her, how bad sitting in the car for four hours would be. I knew it would hurt, but having her stay with me — in my apartment, in my couch or in my bed — while trying to restrict myself from saying too much, or doing too much, would have definitely hurt more.

I can't stay away from her, that much I know. I need... I just need a way to deal with all this — to not make stupid mistakes, to keep myself under control.

To not want to invite her to stay over at my place, for example!

I'm good at that, at controlling myself.

I am better than this. I have to be. Today was just an off day.

It just caught me out of guard, her being hurt. Her tears, her gripping onto my hand like that, as if she needed me. All I wanted was to be there for here, in an honest, no ulterior motive, kind of way. But I was tired, exhausted, needing someone myself. I couldn't think straight.

God, I still can't. I'm so tired, I can't think. I can't get the smell of her hair from my head, or the image of her eyes, staring back at me…

I basically had to beg her, plead her, not to ask me to stay. There was nothing I would have denied her tonight. If she had asked me to stay with her, I don't know how or if I would have been able to handle that at all.

With a groan, I run the palm of my hand down my face, trying to get a grip on myself. There's no use to this. I still have over an hour of driving ahead of me, with nothing to do but think.

 _She left him._

She actually left him, packed her bags, took the dog with her.

I don't know how I feel about that yet. Even though I still missed a heartbeat or two when she told me, I can't say I didn't see it coming.

He's taken her for granted for the longest time. I know because I've sat on the sidelines and watched it happen. Of course he loves her. There's no doubt in my mind that he does. But the way he has been with her... the way he has treated her lately, that's not how you treat a woman like Isabella. That's not how you treat a woman. Period.

She gave so much to him, everything really. She just had enough. She deserves this opportunity, and I hope it goes well for her in Munich.

All of this time she has been here, right under my nose. I've always had the chance to just be her friend. Instead, I held back, avoided her, too afraid to be near her with all of these unanswered feelings swirling inside of me.

 _And now she's leaving..._

 _So soon..._

Maybe I knew she'd take the job in Munich — or I hoped she did — and I am so proud of her for doing it. But I neglected to see how it would completely eradicate her from my life.

I wasn't at all ready for that.

It took me by surprise — just completely unexpected that she would leave so suddenly. I had no time to prepare. No time to react.

Taking everything into consideration, I guess I did okay today. Granted I almost slipped, but I didn't. She's back home and safe, and I'm on my way as well.

The sun is starting to come out when I make it back to Dortmund.

I check on Emmett first, and he is passed out on his couch exactly where I left him. I try to tell him Isabella is home and okay, but I don't think he hears anything. So I finally head home and collapse in my bed. An intense week is approaching quickly, with games in both the national league and qualifying for the Champions League tournament.

I hope Emmett can pull it together in time, and that the Isabella situation doesn't affect him too much. As for me, I hope I can manage to somehow keep her in my life, as a friend, I suppose. It'd be excruciating, but not having her at all would hurt more.

What is one to do when you love someone but can't be with them?


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11.

It's been three months since I left Dortmund for my new life in Munich. After I left, I tried calling Emmett a few times, left him messages, but I have yet to hear from him.

 _I miss him._

 _I miss them._

At least I know that he is okay — that they are okay. I have been able to follow their games on TV and they even qualified to the Champions League semifinals! I'm sure they are all ecstatic about it.

God, I miss them so much.

I miss going to their games, the thrill from sitting in those stands and watching them play, cheering them on while they do the thing that they love the most in the world.

I struggled with not calling Edward about their qualification. I haven't allowed myself time to think about everything he did for me the day I left Dortmund. The way he picked up my pieces and made sure I made it home whole. I need time before I explore that sentiment. I need to make sure Emmett is okay first.

It's simply too soon.

This is a big enough moment in their careers, they need to center their focus on that, and I'm starting a new chapter in my life as well.

Yes, it's definitely too soon — for all three of us.

At least work has done a good job at keeping me busy. I have fully immersed myself in it so, at the end of the day, I don't have the time or the strength to think about anything else. It's actually been quite overwhelming, but a welcomed distraction.

It's pretty late on Tuesday night, and I just finished the dishes when my phone beeps with a text. My stomach churns in expectation that it might be Emmett, or Edward...

The text is not from either of them. It's from Alice, one of the girls from the team, Jasper's girl.

"Bella, I have one broken Jas at home. How is Em doing?"

A cold shiver runs through my spine.

Something's happened.

Something's happened and somehow Alice thinks Emmett is still with me. Instinctively, I dial Emmett's number at once. It rings twice, and then goes into voicemail. I ring again, and it goes straight into voicemail.

 _Shit..._

Emmett is still not only not answering my calls, but also sending me straight to voicemail. With the phone cradled between my ear and shoulder going over his voicemail message, I finally notice the news running on my TV screen.

 _Transfer Bomb: Jacob Black to Bayern Munich!_

I reach for the remote, turning the volume up.

"... the wonder kid has signed with arch rival club Bayern Munich who just activated his release clause of 35 million Euros. Dortmund executives are said to give a press conference first thing tomorrow morning."

Holy shit... what... how...

My brain fails me as I hang up on Emmett's machine's voice. I flop on the couch completely in shock. What has Jake done? How could he do this?

Jacob is one of the most promising talents the city has ever seen, and he goes to join their biggest rivals!

Oh God... Emmett will be devastated.

Everyone will.

They play the first game of semifinals tomorrow against Real Madrid — easily the biggest game in their careers. How could they release this news now? How could he have done this?

Without me even thinking about it, my fingers are dialing a different number.

He picks up first ring.

"Isabella?" He sounds genuinely surprised, almost as if he's making sure that it's actually me.

"Tell me it's not true."

He sighs into the phone. "So you've heard?"

"How could this be, Edward? Why would they release this today? What was Jake thinking?" I'm frantic, failing to grasp the magnitude of this news.

"I honestly don't know." He sounds calm, his voice soft.

"How long have you guys known about this?"

"No one knew," he says matter-of-factly. "I found out today. Just like you. Just like everyone else. I just got off the phone with Coach, Jacob told him two days ago. That's it."

"Oh God... How could he have done this?" I bury my face in my hands. Just a moment ago, I was thinking about how big this game will be for them... life changing even, and now everything is crumbling around them.

This will only end in chaos.

"It's his life, his choice. He wants to go; he can do whatever he wants."

"Yes, but going to Bayern!" I have to restrain myself from shouting.

"Well, of course that's unfortunate... for us, for the league, but that's football - players come and go." There isn't any sign on his tone that tells me this bothers him.

"How can you be so calm... so... unaffected?"

"Of course I'm not unaffected by this. My anger though is not aimed at Jacob, or whatever business deal went on. That is honestly not my problem. My anger..." He pauses, takes a deep breath, before he continues. "My anger is directed at whoever is responsible for leaking this news out tonight. With only one thing in mind: Having us out of that game tomorrow."

I sigh into the phone. He's right. This would be on everyone's heads tomorrow. "I don't even know what to say."

"I won't let that happen, Isabella. They won't win."

It takes me a second to digest his words — the resolve in them. My eyes tear up a bit, and I am completely overwhelmed by the power in his tone, his conviction, his willpower.

Edward is one of the strongest people I know. It is now I understand how he can be so nonchalant about the whole thing: His resolve is built around the fact that he won't let this ruin him.

It's a fact. No doubting. No second guessing. Just a fact.

I wonder how the rest of them are feeling.

Oh God... Emmett...

He's going through this, by himself.

At the realization of the kind of night Emmett is possible having, a little whimper escapes my lips, and my tears start to fall in a sob.

"Hey... hey, it's going to be fine," Edward urges from the other side of the line.

"I'm sorry..." I wipe my tears in annoyance. "I'm such a mess. You need to rest for tomorrow... I-"

"Isabella?"

"Yeah?" I try to hold it a bit longer.

"You can ask me about him, you know?"

A choked laugh escapes through my sobs. How the hell does he know exactly what I needed to hear?

"He's okay," he states simply.

"He is?"

"He has a slightly different position than me when it comes to Jacob, but... um... yeah, he'll be fine."

"He will be or he is?" I'm not convinced it's either.

I know Emmett. This kind of news would have to have affected him. I could just see him. He'd be flipping his shit.

Edward's silence says everything. He's stalling for words. He can't lie. Not about Emmett and definitely not to me.

"Just tell me..."

"Well, of course he was in shock. Luckily, I was with him when we both found out. You know, he has his own past with Bayern, and it just means a lot more to him than to me. That's all. He was also a lot closer to Jacob..."

Was...

"I left him home..." he continues. "He was calm. He's fine."

 _Oh Emmett..._

Tears start streaming down my face again. Calmed Emmett is definitely worse than flipping-his-shit Emmett. Calmed Emmett doesn't deal with things. Calmed Emmett just swallows everything. Calmed Emmett will certainly get absolutely no sleep tonight.

I sigh into the phone, trying to gather myself. "Okay... um... I should let you go sleep now. Good luck tomorrow, okay? I'll be watching the game, from here. And um... thanks... for everything, really."

"No need to thank me..." He sighs too. He sounds tired. I hope I have not completely disrupted his rest. "You can call me, Isabella. You know that, right? Anytime."

His words tug at my heart. I promised him I wouldn't disappear. I just don't know how to deal with whatever he makes me feel without fixing things with Emmett first. It's why I haven't called him before even though I've been dying to. I know he's allowed me the space too, no matter the cost to him.

I can't really think about that now though, so I just swallow everything. "I know. Thank you. I'll let you go now, ok? Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Isabella." Even though he sounds exhausted, he seems reluctant to let go. I can hear his breathing on the other side — he is still there. I can feel the tears prickling in the corners of my eyes and a knot forming in my throat. I don't want Edward to feel he has to comfort me any more than he already has — I want him to get some rest. So holding my breath, I hang up.

I try Emmett's number again a few more times, but like every other time since I left, he does not answer. I can't think of anything healthy he could be doing to cope with this. I wish he would just answer the phone.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

A/N: Aren't we all thankful for Jacob? At least Bella called Edward! ;)


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12.

EPOV

The eerie silence of the bus is almost disturbing. Even though the bus is full, I can almost hear my own heart beat. Most of my teammates are already here — almost everyone, except for Seth and Jacob.

Emmett is all the way in the back, where we usually sit. I recognize the top of Jasper's head on the seat facing Emmett. Jasper is out cold, softly snoring with his earphones on. He doesn't even notice as I flop next to him. I stretch my legs, resting my feet on top of the seat next to Emmett.

I feel good, the meds have taken effect and I feel no pain. I stretch my hand to Emmett, who bumps fists with me absentmindedly. The dark shadows under his eyes tell me he did not sleep.

"You okay?" I ask.

He nods absentmindedly at me, before returning his attention to the window. Just as he does, I can see Seth's Range Rover making its way into the parking lot. A swarm of reporters yell, flash their cameras, and shove their mics forward, toward the oncoming vehicle, begging for a statement. Security seems to be working overtime today at trying to keep them out.

When Jacob comes out of the passenger seat, he's hiding under an oversized baseball cap and the hood of his sweater on top, but not even that fools the fans outside of the gates, which boo and scream all sorts of insults at him.

Seth makes his way out of the car and around to Jacob, who's frozen in place looking at the fans. With an arm around his shoulder, Seth steers Jacob on the direction of the bus.

Emmett scoffs in front of me, extricating his phone from his pocket and with a touch of a finger, his music is blaring so loud I can hear it out of his headphones.

I lower my feet to the floor and scoot closer, hitting his knee with my hand.

"What?!" He says a little louder than the confines of the bus would require.

"Keep your head in the game."

He rolls his eyes, waving a hand at me dismissively, and setting his headphones back into place.

I sit back, and rest my head, staring at the ceiling of the bus as we start moving. I won't do this. I won't think about Jacob or about what will happen next season. There's only today, this game, it's all I'll think about. I've studied Cristiano Ronaldo, the striker I will be marking today; I know his ways, his moves. He won't get pass me tonight — I won't allow it.

Everyone is quiet as we enter the locker rooms and start getting ready. I think no one has really had time to react or think about what's happening with Jacob and the implications of his decision to leave our team.

We link arms in a circle while Coach Banner addresses us. "The issues regarding next season will be discussed when time pertains..." he starts.

At this, Jacob lowers his head. I see him in front of me, with Seth at his side, tightening his grip around Jacob's neck. I'm glad he has him — whatever prompted him to agree to a move to Bayern, I am sure it wasn't an easy decision, and it's important to have a friend's support in a moment like this.

"Today, this is our game, our chance," Coach continues. "We go big or we go home. Everything that happened last night was aimed at us losing our focus for today, an ill-advised distraction. But I won't let that happen. We won't let it happen. Is that clear?!"

As our coach continues his speech, his trademark, charismatic, encouraging words get us pumped for the game. I search around at my teammates' faces, and all I see is power, determination, focus.

Jasper cracks his neck next to Seth, exuding dire confidence — no one will get past him tonight.

I realize there's a theme on my friends' — my brothers' — faces: revenge. If releasing that headline last night was supposed to hurt us, it backfired. Instead, it fueled us. We all want this now more than ever.

I'm feeling pretty confident that we will try our hardest to get the best result out of this game, until my eyes find Emmett, whose arms are linked with Coach himself. Emmett is the only one, besides Jacob, whose head is down.

Madrid's team is filled with talent, but their attack, especially, is deadly. We can't afford having Emmett, a defender, out of focus tonight. We must not concede any away goals.

I'm standing behind him in the tunnel; both hands on his shoulders, gripping him tightly. "I bet Ronaldo is shitting his pants right now," I joke, but I get no response from Emmett, nothing but a deep breath. He shrugs my hands off as we start moving out of the tunnel.

I try to push my worries about Emmett to the back of my head as we make our way out. The vibe, the emotion, the energy our stadium transmits is something I've never been able to put into words. It's simply indescribable.

My body is vibrating with the chants of our deafening crowd.

As soon as we're out I see him — Cristiano Ronaldo. He looks self-assured as usual, head held up high, eyebrows raised; he knows all eyes are on him.

As we stand in line, my whole body is overflowing with energy, adrenaline. I find it almost impossible to remain still.

When the game starts, I become Ronaldo's shadow. I feel light as a feather, fast, as if I have an extra pair of lungs and legs. I keep up with him easily, and as time advances, it turns out he's having trouble keeping up with me.

We manage to score early. Seth sneaks behind their defender and brings down Jacob's cross easily into the net. We dominate the first half in almost its entirety — Madrid never knew what hit them. Except for a few of Emmett's misplaced passes, we are flawless, every single one of us.

After the 40th minute, Real Madrid get a corner kick.

I stand next to Ronaldo, who's bent over, hands on knees, panting. I feel a thousand feet tall at his side. I've given this half everything, and we've guarded our one goal advantage with our lives.

I think I've ran more in these 40 minutes of play than in some full 90 minutes league games, but I don't care. I may not be able to feel my legs, and I could be struggling to restrict my breathing to my nose only, but I'm standing tall next to him.

We never stop attacking and we keep our lines up. Madrid has had absolutely no chance of creating anything, and it feels like in no time, we will score again. However, in a moment of chaos, we get denied a clear penalty and to make matters worse, Madrid gets a foul called right after.

Everyone is unsettled, but I try to remain focused as Madrid is quick to take counterattack from their free kick. Emmett is in a good position and handles the ball with his head, and as I see he will pass it back to our keeper, I start moving forward again.

Unexpectedly, Emmett miscalculates his pass, and it comes short. Out of nowhere, Madrid has got the ball, with no one between them and our goalie. As if that wasn't enough, Ronaldo has a good twenty meters advantage on me, and is already running back. My legs are moving under me, without me even noticing, but they're not nearly fast enough.

I stare down at my feet as I speed up.

Move...

Faster...

I catch up with him and attempt to intercept the pass to him, but it grazes the tip of my boot.

I already know what's coming but still I have to try something. I slide to block his shot, but it slips under my legs, and into the net.

They've equalized. They've gotten an away goal.

I gasp for air into the turf, trying to catch my breath, urging myself to just keep going. There's a lot of time left, we must do better than this. As I manage to get up, I see Emmett, both hands on his head, staring at his shoes, completely devastated.

This is, by far, there worst mistake I've ever witnessed him making on the pitch.

I approach Emmett quickly. "Forget it happened," I try to get him to hear me, but I can see it in his eyes, which refuse to make contact with mine — he's gone.

There's only a couple minutes left before the end of the first half. We can't fall apart now, it would be deadly. We all move back, and defend tightly, just to try to make it to halftime without any more mistakes.

Thankfully we do.

I drop next to Emmett on the bench in our locker room. I haven't been able to get through to him all day, and I don't expect to now. I just sit next to him, mostly for support.

Jasper sinks beside me, getting rid of his soaked shirt. We've both put a great effort into the flanks, to keep our attack going without neglecting the defense.

"We've dominated the game the whole time," Coach starts as he comes in. "They've had no chance. None! We're just going to have to step it up, and score a few in the next forty five."

He pats Seth's back before he walks to us, stopping in front of Jasper and me. "You both have been stellar!" He smacks one hand on each of our sides, making us bump shoulders in the middle.

Emmett holds his head in his hand as Coach makes his way to sit next to him. If there's anyone who can get through to Emmett — at least someone who's in the room right now — it's our coach.

"Em..." He starts. As he gets no response, he puts a hand on Emmett's head. "Listen, this game might not be fun for you anymore, but we still need you out there."

Emmett takes a breath and sits back up.

"We need your balls," Coach continues through a laugh.

Emmett cracks a smile, a fake one maybe, but under his current mood, I'll take it.

Coach really can work magic with his words.

"It will be difficult, but you must put this behind you. We can't do this without you." He's back to all seriousness now, and Emmett nods at him before Coach goes on to talk to a few of the other players.

Before we know it, we are being called to head back out, and as the second half starts, we go full throttle again,

I don't let Ronaldo even catch his breath, or touch the ball for that matter.

It takes Seth five minutes to score again. Like I said, he's on fire, and everything is working smoothly. Five minutes later, he scores again, we're winning 3-1 and Madrid seems to be struggling to even get back in the game.

We never stop pressing, never lower our intensity and in the next few minutes, we could have easily scored a couple more. We're physically prepared for our high pace game, it's what we train for every day.

What I've asked of my body tonight, however, ends up being too much.

I'm running back, from a corner kick on our side of the pitch, following Madrid's counterattack on the other side. When I block a shot from Ronaldo with my right foot, I feel a pull, from above my knee all the way up my inner thigh to my groin.

The pain makes me limp around a couple steps, hitching my leg up and out to the side as I make pressure with my hand. I've pulled a muscle — I can feel it. I eye the clock to realize we're almost on the 60th minute... there are thirty more minutes to play, plus added time.

We're winning 3-1, which is comfortable, but conceding another away goal could be deadly. I can't step out now. My team needs me. I try a few deeps breaths, as they get ready for their corner.

Jasper is next to me with a hand on my shoulder and his eyebrows scrunched in preoccupation. "You okay?"

I nod at him, pointing at one Madrid player who is unmarked, successfully diverting him.

I manage to push the pain to the back of my mind and continue to play at max intensity for the next few minutes.

On the 66th minute, Seth is brought down in the box and the referee points to the penalty spot. As he steps up to take the penalty, I approach Coach quickly. I don't want to be stupid and jeopardize our lead by playing injured, so I let him know I'm hurt. However, I also let him know I feel I can play through the pain for a while longer, but that if he sees me lower my intensity or my quality, he should sub me off.

Coach knows I don't mess around. I don't take risks. I'm in control of my body and I know what I can do. He stares at me, my body is buzzing... or maybe I'm just shaking, but I want to keep going. He nods, so I get back to my position.

Seth converts the penalty beautifully, and we're winning 4-1.

A fairytale.

I make it to the 80th minute, but it's a stretch. I know it. Coach knows it. I won't be able to finish this game, not up on two legs at least. One look at my coach from across the field, and he gets the change ready, and at the 83th minute, I'm being subbed off.

We're still winning 4-1, there's a little over minutes left, but we have been in complete control. As the weight of the game is lifted off my shoulders, the pain in my leg becomes more pronounced, and I have trouble even making it out of the pitch.

Everything hurts.

I even cringe away from Jasper's pat on my back.

I shake Coach's hand as I step off the field and he pulls me for a hug. "I'm sorry I couldn't finish," I say through my teeth, a sense of non-achievement filling me. There's nothing I would have liked more than to be able to finish this game.

"You've done more than enough, son." He pats my back.

I collapse on our bench with a huff, wincing as my fingers press on the inside of my thigh. The medic is on me soon enough, spraying numbing medication and wrapping ice packs around my leg.

I lack the energy to really focus on the remainder of the game, and I am a bit out of it and don't notice much except the fact that we don't concede.

After the final whistle, the stadium explodes with joy. We're not in the finals yet, but we have a pretty good chance now. I limp onto the pitch and join my teammates in celebrations. I stand back when they start jumping and dancing. Emmett greets the roaring fans calmly as well, and after a few minutes we all go into the locker rooms.

The celebrations continue in the locker rooms as well. Seth plays music and they're all singing and dancing. Beers are flowing too. Even though Emmett was able to pull himself together during the second half, he's still clearly not enjoying himself.

I'm not too worried, though. He's probably exhausted and frustrated with himself. I sit next to him as he takes his gear off, when Jacob comes closer, a beer bottle in each hand. Seth appears behind him, his eyes wary and on me. His entire body is tense and in defensive mode as Jacob's hand stretches out, offering the beer to me.

I grab the beer from Jacob, who seems nervous and apologetic. I smile at him, and we clink bottles — I hold no grudges against the kid. Seth releases a breath, as he senses no threat, and is next to me in the next instant, throwing an arm around my shoulder.

Jacob still holds the other bottle in front of Emmett, who's bent over unlacing his boots. When Emmett looks up, his face flashing with emotions — from indifference to anger, hurt, disappointment. He stiffens up next to me, and Jacob takes a careful step back, lowering the offensive drink.

Emmett gets up then, towering over Jacob. In reflex, Seth shoots up from next to me as well and stands protectively next to Jacob. Emmett's eyes flicker, from Jacob to Seth and back, before he just turns around and heads to the showers.

Seth goes after him. "Emmett, come on, you're not being fair."

"Fair?!" When Emmett turns around, Seth has to take a step back as well. "Since when are you the devil's advocate?" he seethes, leaving Seth speechless, and heading back in again.

Jacob sighs in front of me, setting the bottle down on the bench. "Just give him some time," I say encouragingly, but the kid just shrugs and walks away from me.

I fish in my bag for my things so I can go shower as well. When my eyes land on my phone in my bag, only one thought crosses my mind: Isabella.

I finally allow myself to think about her.

When I saw her name flashing on my screen last night, I almost couldn't believe it. She had finally called me, reached out to me. I've struggled with keeping my distance from her and allowing her some time, even though not hearing from her, not knowing if she was okay, was unbearable. I was comforted by the fact that I know how strong she is, and that she'd be dealing well with the situation.

I mostly just yearned to hear her voice... I still do.

She said she'd be watching today, and I really hope she was. I'm sure she would be proud of us. I would love to call her, share this with her, but when I think about the day Emmett is having, I desist and head for the showers instead.

The drugs are well worn out by now and the pain on my thigh is nothing compared to the one on my hip. I'll need the medic staff to pull out some serious tricks if I have any intention of walking out of here tonight.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

A/N: Edward seems to need a massage... who volunteers?


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13.

My heart is still beating fast after what I just witnessed. My hands shake, my eyes are still teary. I've grown attached to these guys, to Emmett's team, to Dortmund, and having to watch yet another amazing game from far away, feeling completely left out of it, hurts.

It was my choice, a decision I made for myself, and even though I'm sticking to it, it doesn't mean it won't affect me. But the worst of all was to see Emmett perform badly, to think of him vulnerable like that, it's not something I'm used to. And I can't help but think that it's my fault. I could have helped him get through the shock of Jacob's transfer.

I could have made it better... I would have... should have...

I slump on the couch with a sigh, trying his cell one last time. I know it's unlikely he'll answer — they're probably still celebrating. Knowing Emmett though, I have a feeling he isn't. He won't be happy about his game, even though he pulled it together after such a mistake. He was able to turn his game around for that second half, but it probably took a lot of mental strength from him — he won't ever forget that their away goal was his mistake.

Everyone was fantastic tonight. No one let the fact that they conceded a goal demoralize them.

Edward... Edward was unbelievable.

I hope he's okay. I knew something was wrong during the second half of the game. He kept hitching his leg and stretching it every chance he got. I don't know how he lasted as long as he did, but he looked in serious pain when he was subbed off.

After Emmett doesn't, my fingers brush over the keys on my phone, tempting me to call Edward instead. I know the chances of him answering right now are just as slim, since they're probably still at the stadium, but I try anyways.

It rings a few times, and just when I'm about to hang up, he answers eagerly, "Isabella?"

"Edward, hi... Um... Hope you're not busy?"

"No, no... it's okay. Just with the massage crew and medic staff right now." There's a lot of ruffling around on the other side of the line, and then he exhales roughly.

"Oh... I can call back later."

"Nonsense. Are you okay?"

"Am I okay? Jesus, CONGRATULATIONS!"

I hear him laugh through the speaker, and it melts my heart.

"That was unbelievable, Edward! One of the best games I've ever seen."

"Thank you..." His tone is clipped and I'm pretty sure he stifles a groan.

"Are you okay? I saw you were subbed off. It didn't look good. Is it your hip again?"

"Not the hip..." He breathes. "I pulled my adductor — the inner thigh muscle — but I'm fine. I hope it heals quickly... I probably won't play Saturday though."

"Good... you need the rest," I add in relief.

"As for the hip... well, they'll do everything possible so that it's at least manageable for next Tuesday."

And just like that, the relief turns back into concern. "When you say manageable..."

"Don't worry about it, okay? I'm all in for that game. Isabella... This will be the biggest game of my career. Of everyone's on this team. Can you believe it? How close we are of reaching the Final?"

I can feel the excitement in his voice, it surpasses everything else. Nothing will keep him from that pitch next Tuesday.

"Edward?"

"Yeah?" He grunts. They must be doing something to him again. I can hear him inhale sharply.

"Please don't play if you're not fit." My voice comes out in a whisper because I know I have no right to ask such a thing.

The line goes silent which makes me believe he's covered the receiver. I scratch my forehead with a sigh, ready to take it back, when he speaks.

"I can't promise you that. I'm sorry." He sounds sad, as if it's as painful for him to admit as it is for me to hear.

I don't really know what to say, so I remain quiet.

"Listen..." His tone is softer now. "This is it, though. If we advance, I'd have three weeks to recover before the final... but if we lose, I'll have the surgery right away, I promise."

"This is crazy!"

"Everyone is dealing with something, you know? I'm just doing my part for the team."

"Yes, but at what cost?"

"I will be fine. Don't worry."

I let out a breath, and we both fall silent for a while. I want to ask him about Emmett, but I can't find the right words to do so.

"He's okay too, Isabella..." he says, as if he's read my mind. "He's dealing with everything, in his own way."

"He didn't look good on the pitch today."

"I know..." Edward breathes into the phone again. "At least Coach was able to get through him at halftime. Today was tough for him, but I think he just needs a bit of time, and a good rest. He'll come back strong."

I sigh, and before I can say anything, I hear other voices through the line... something about a shot?

"Isabella, I have to go. Thank you for calling, and don't worry... okay? I'll call you back?"

"Oh... okay. Sure." I don't get to say anything else because the line cuts abruptly.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

Early the next morning, I wake up startled to my phone ringing and my heart speeds up in my chest. I answer without looking at the screen, barely registering the time flashing from the alarm clock on my nightstand.

"Hello?" My voice is hoarse with sleep.

"Bella..." He breathes into the phone.

"Emmett?" I sit up on my bed, surprised and relieved it's him. "Are you okay?"

"I'm so sorry..." are his first words.

"Em..." I try to stop him but he keeps going.

"I'm an idiot for shutting you out, Bella. I mean it. I want you in my life. I need you. Any way you can give me, please. I'll be fine with whatever... as long as I can have you in my life, Bella, please," he begs.

Desperation is evident as his voice cracks a couple times. I know this is not about me, though. This is about the day he just had today. It's been too much. He's crumbling.

"Emmett, breathe," I whisper and instead of snapping back at me for being told to relax or calm down, he actually takes a deep breath. "It's going to be okay."

"Are you coming to Madrid for the away game?"

My heart breaks at his frantic invitation. I wasn't planning on going, but how do I deny him this? "I need you there," he adds, as he senses my hesitation.

I take a deep breath. I want this. I want to be there for him, for them. "Okay, I'll be there."

"Will I be able to see you afterward?" The hopefulness in his tone makes the line slowly dissolve.

Before I can object, he adds, "As friends, I promise." There is sincerity in his voice, but I know Emmett. It might be too soon for this to be a good idea.

"I don't know if tha-"

"Bella, please. I've missed you so much."

My heart breaks again. I've missed him too, terribly so, but I don't tell him this. He'd misunderstand.

"Okay, Em. I'll stay after the game." As soon as I say the words, I hear him breathe again, the tension is lifted from the air, and I can feel him unwind.

I relax back into my pillow, and a small yawn escapes my lips. "I'm sorry I woke you," he says softly.

"It's okay... Are you having trouble sleeping?" I ask this question in fear that I already know the answer.

"Yeah..." He sighs. "I'm dead tired, but I can't even sleep."

"You've had a long day..."

"Bella, I swear... if my mistake ends up costing us the final... I... I..." He trails off, completely lost.

"Emmett, stop. You guys turned it around... You have a three goal advantage an-"

"You think Madrid's not able to beat us 3-0? At home? Please..."

"Of course they are, but that doesn't mean they will."

"I don't know what happened. I didn't see he was right behind me... and... a fucking back pass!"

"Did you sleep last night?" I try to distract him. Him berating himself about his mistake will not lead us anywhere.

"Of course not... I couldn't, and how I wish it was because of the game."

"I knew you wouldn't be able to... I tried calling you..."

"Fucking Jacob! This is all his fault. How could he be so stupid... so naive... so heartless..." He's filled with spite, hate, and disgust.

I let him go on and he lets everything out. I get the feeling he hasn't allowed himself to talk about this, with anyone. So I let him talk, and I just listen, because I know it's exactly what he needs.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

Tuesday morning I fly to Madrid.

The stadium is half packed when I arrive.

I spot Alice first, in our section, and she smiles excitedly as she sees me. "Bella, hello?!" she says, hugging me. "Where have you been?! Emmett said you started this new job in Munich? How is that going?" she continues eagerly.

"Is that all he said?" I wonder out loud.

Alice eyes me suspiciously, but before she can say anything, someone's behind me, tapping my shoulder. I turn to find Riley, Emmett's brother, right in front of me.

Oh boy...

"Hey, Bella. Just a heads up: Mom's upset because she didn't hear back from you on the casserole she sent you and Emmett."

"The what?"

"Oh shit, there she comes, never mind." He squeezes between Alice and I, looking for his seat, revealing Mrs. McCarty behind him.

"Isabella, darling!" she says in her big hair and even bigger fur coat. "Two cell phones, one landline, but you and my son are harder to reach than the president herself!"

I realize then, none of them know. Emmett has not told a soul.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. McCarty. We've been really busy... um... thanks for the casserole ... it was delicious."

She raises one eyebrow at me, and with a shaking head, moves on to her seat.

I sink next to Alice, and hold my head in my hands.

"Hey," her hand is on my shoulder as she whispers. "Everything okay?"

I look up from my hands. She knows something's up. I can't lie to her. I slowly shake my head at her. She nods sweetly at me as her hand reaches for my knee and she gives me two pats. Cheers surround us then as the teams start making their way on the field.

"We'll talk later," Alice whispers next to me.

As soon as the game starts, our attention is devoted to the guys giving their everything on the pitch. I keep one eye on Edward the whole time, searching for any sign of pain. He looks invincible, though — unstoppable.

The first half ends 0-0 and I am feeling confident Dortmund can pull through.

Alice stays behind and as soon as the coast is clear, she scoots closer. "Okay, what's up?"

"I broke up with Emmett." I sigh, avoiding her eyes.

"I knew it!"

"Did Emmett tell Jasper?"

"No, but I knew... I knew you wouldn't just go to Munich."

When my eyes find hers, I'm relieved to be greeted with a friendly smile.

"Are you okay though?"

"I think I am," I say, nodding for emphasis. I know I am. I just need to know that he is okay too.

"Good," she says, wrapping an arm around me. When Riley comes back we quickly change the topic.

The game goes in a blur until the final whistle blows, and we're through.

They've done it!

They're in the Champions League final!

We all jump in excitement from the stands as the guys euphorically celebrate on the pitch.

The locker rooms are in complete and utter chaos. The guys are singing, dancing, jumping around, showering with beers and champagne... it's like they've already won the whole thing.

I see Emmett first. He's kind of hard to miss, towering in the middle of everything, an arm around one of the young one's neck, nudging him and messing his hair.

I walk to them with a smile on my face. As soon as he sees me, Emmett releases the poor kid, and his grin stretches from ear to ear. I'm taken by surprise when his arms surround me and I'm lifted off the floor.

"Bella..." He kisses my cheek, breathing into my neck.

The moment is instinctive, routine, normal... but somehow it feels intimate and awkward.

"Congratulations, Em!" I say.

"Thank you, babe," he says, putting me down. "Bella, sorry." He gives me a sheepish smile, his hand reaches for my face, pushing some hair behind my ear and brushing my cheek with his thumb. I stare at him, confused, surprised, and uncomfortable.

He notices it, pulls his hand away, scratching his side, just under his ribs — something he unconsciously does all the time.

We stand in front of each other awkwardly, when I see his mother walk in. He sees her too, and cringes.

"Emmett," I whisper. "How come your mother still expects calls from me?"

"Shit, Bella, I'm sorry. I just haven't had a chance to talk to her... at all, with so much going on."

"Have you told anyone?"

His eyes avoid me and he shakes his head, one hand pulling at his hair.

God, for a grown man he can be such a little boy sometimes.

Before I can say anything, he gets soaked by the contents of a cooler. Two of his teammates are running then, and he runs off after them, leaving me in the middle of the room, trying to wipe the mess from my pants.

As soon as I look up, deep green eyes glue me in place. He is staring right at me, from the back of the room, sitting on a bench against the wall, in a hallway that leads to the back rooms.

His hair is not perfectly done — which is strange — instead it's messily pointing in every direction, even falling onto his forehead. Slowly but surely, a smile starts to appear on his face, and I realize my feet are already moving in his direction.

He straightens his pose, as I come closer. He has one leg stretched, one hand on his hip on that same side.

I sit next to him on the bench and he looks down.

"So... The Champions League Final, huh?"

He laughs, turns his head to me, and there's that smile again. The one that feels like it's just for me. "I still can't believe it," he says.

"You deserve it," I add wholeheartedly.

His eyes are shining so bright it makes my stomach flutter. My eyes travel to his hand, looking for a distraction, as I notice he is tightly gripping his hip. "Are you okay?"

He nods quickly. "It was amazing, Isabella. Something I've never experienced before — so much adrenaline flowing through me. I swear I didn't even feel a tweak. Not even for one second." He smiles again before his hand finds the back of his neck. "Not during the game, at least... I suppose it'll be a little different tomorrow morning."

"Are you going to be okay?"

He shrugs. "Three weeks. Three more league games and then the final..." His lips stretch again in a grin. "The final."

"Unbelievable..."

The door in front of us opens, revealing Jacob Black limping out of the infirmary, his thigh wrapped in ice packs. As karma would have it, he was subbed with an injury early on. He looks at me briefly, and with a soft "hey", he limps away.

Edward gets up from the bench next to me. "I'm next," he says, gesturing with his head to the infirmary door. There's an edge to his voice I can't place, but I can see he is tense, his fingers pressing into his groin on the top of his thigh.

God, I hope he's not in too much pain.

"Oh, okay... sure," I say distractedly.

"Are you staying?

"Um... I should probably get going. I fly back to Munich tonight."

"Oh... right..." He looks down, seemingly disappointed. "Well, it was really nice to see you." He finally looks at me, a hand scratching his neck.

Before he can stop me or leave, I wrap him in a hug. "Congratulations!" I say into his neck.

"Thank you," he whispers, one of his hands makes it to the small of my back, as he hugs me back.

I'm suddenly possessed with the urging need of never letting him go.

He takes a sharp breath, and his hand flies from my back to his hip as he straightens from the bent position of hugging me.

He composes the wince off his features and manages to force an apologetic smile. "I really need to get in there," he says, still gripping his hip.

"Yes, of course. Please..." I wish I had more time with him, but more than anything, I just need him to stop hurting.

"Goodbye, Isabella. It was great to see you." His pose is still tense, but his face is relaxed.

"You too..." I smile weakly as he enters the room and closes the door behind him.

I sit back on the bench because I need a minute to gather myself. Why don't I want to go? Why do I wish I had a reason to stay? I'm not Emmett's girl anymore. What reason would I possibly have stay here with them?

Gosh, I need to get a grip on myself.

Before I get up from the bench, Alice is sitting next to me.

"Coach gave them the night off. We'll have dinner together, and then maybe go out. How does that sound?"

"I fly back to Munich tonight."

"What, no. Why?" Her face crumples in disappointment.

"I just... I don't know..."

"Oh come on, just stay with us tonight. We have separate rooms. You can stay with me." Alice smiles, grabbing my hand.

Before I can tell her no, Emmett is walking to us. Alice sees him, and stands quickly.

"Offer still stands," she says, before she leaves me alone on the bench.

Emmett drops next to me. "What a game, Bella, what a game!" He still isn't able to contain the smile on his face. "I just wanted to say thank you, for coming and for taking my calls, for hearing me out. Really, thank you."

"I'm glad I did, Emmett. You guys are making history. What an achievement this has been! I am so proud of you."

"I wouldn't have been able to do this without you. You know that, don't you?"

"Stop..." I refuse to let him give me any credit for this.

"Bella, there's a dinner and a party afterward. Please, stay... as my friend. Please?"

"I can't."

"Why not?"

"I'd miss my flight."

"You fly with us tomorrow. Problem solved," he says with a smile. As if it was that easy.

"Em, it will be awkward."

"Says who? Bella, you're part of this team too, you know?" He puts a hand on my shoulder.

"But I'm not..."

"Yes, you are. For the past four years, you've been here for every win, every defeat. Ups and downs, injuries... everything. And not just with me, with them too — with the team, and the rest of the girls." His hand moves from my shoulder to my chin, tilting my face up to meet his eyes. "You're still a part of the family, Bella, and we're going through the most special time in our club's history, and you want to miss it? Because of me?"

My eyes fill with tears at his words and I wipe a few of them discreetly, releasing my face from his fingers.

"At least go with the girls, okay?" He sighs. "Please, Bella, stay."

I want to stay. He wants me to stay. It sounded like Edward wanted me to stay too. What's the worst that could happen?

"Okay," I whisper.

Some of the boys are calling Emmett, so he kisses the top of my head. "I'll talk to my mother, okay? Don't worry about anything." And he's gone.

When I finally pull myself together, I brush my hands over my thighs and rise, heading out of the locker room in search for Alice.

I guess I am staying after all.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

A/N: well, what's the worst that could happen?


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

Somehow I end up in Alice's room trying on a few of her dresses. As we get ready together we don't get into deep conversation. I think she's hoping that I bring Emmett up, and since I don't, she doesn't push me.

Jasper, Alice and I make it to the Hotel Hall for the dinner party.

Not everyone is there yet, and the room seems a bit sparse.

Edward is here already, sitting next to Coach and his wife. Coach is saying something to him which has him chuckling. They go back and forth a few times, until they are both belly laughing.

It is so nice, so refreshing, to see him this way — carefree, happy.

He brings his drink to his lips as I make my way with Alice and Jasper to our table. He halts, mid drink, while his eyebrows scrunch in the middle as his eyes find me. I smile and shrug at the confused expression on his face, and he puts his drink down.

I make it to the table, consciously aware of the pair of blue eyes following me. It takes quite the effort not to turn to look at him again, when his eyes are calling on me this way.

I take a seat at our empty table and five seconds have not gone by, when he's sitting next to me.

"You stayed," he says, without looking at me, facing the entrance doors.

"Yeah, figured I'd crash your party."

"It's not my party..." He turns to look at me. "You wouldn't be crashing it either."

When his lips stretch in a smile for me, I can't help but reciprocate.

"Are you feeling better?" I ask, with a little nod to his hip.

"As good as new," he teases, unable to erase the smile of his face.

Okay, whatever he's on, I want some.

"Liar," I say through a giggle.

"I'll be fine," he adds dismissively, sitting back onto the chair. His eyes are still on me, but he slowly loses his smile. He opens his mouth a couple times, as if he's going to ask something else, but he stalls.

When the entrance doors open, his attention is drawn in that direction.

Through the doors comes Seth, with two of the younger ones flanked by Emmett himself. As soon as they appear, Edward sits up on his chair, edging slightly away from me.

Emmett comes around to us and sets a hand on Edward's shoulder. "Better?"

Edward looks up to him, nodding with a friendly smile, and pats Emmett's hand with his as he gets up.

Emmett's arm stays over Edward's shoulder as he turns to me. "Did you see this one today?" Emmett asks me, pointing the finger of the hand that holds a beer bottle on Edward's chest. "I swear Ronaldo is crying in his hotel room right now, nightmares tonight, for sure."

Edward smiles shyly, looking down. "It was a team effort."

When Edward attempts to leave, Emmett insists he stays. Edward's hesitant eyes briefly set on mine, but after I smile at him, he agrees.

He seats next to Emmett over dinner, and we chat, as friends, for a while. It is surprisingly not awkward. Once the party really starts, the whole team gets on the stage, as the president and coach say some words. They're all jumping, singing... it's great to see them so happy.

Music starts and I dance with some of the girls. Alice never really leaves my side, and I appreciate her for it. She never lets me being here feel awkward at all. That is until, Edward sits by me at our empty table, and Alice makes a not so subtle way out.

Edward sips from his drink as his eyes follow Alice's retreating form.

My eyes are glued to him though… to his lips — puckering around the rim of his glass. To his neck — his adam's apple bobbing as he swallows. To his tongue — as he licks his lips dry while putting the glass down.

Oh God...

I force myself to stare at my hands, look for a distraction.

He sets the glass on the table, and he's looking at me when I glance back up.

"Maybe you should take it easy on that," I say, eyeing his drink. "I don't think I can deal with Emmett being this drunk without your help."

My eyes dart briefly to Emmett, who's still on the dance floor. His arm is around Seth, whose tie is now around his forehead, their unlinked arms waving up and down in time with the beat of the music, rapping, perhaps? The sight makes me smile.

I have realized today, Emmett is okay without me. He truly is.

"Okay, don't laugh," Edward says, once I turn back to him. "It's just juice."

I glimpse at his drink and then back at him. He shrugs.

"Really?"

"Cranberry juice, actually." He stretches his back onto the chair, one hand running down his tie, keeping it in place.

I can't help the giggle that escapes from my lips. I cover my mouth, and glance at him embarrassedly.

"Hey!" he exclaims, pretending to be offended.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I just thought..."

"What?" He presses, one eyebrow raised.

"I don't know. You seem so careless, happy... I thought-"

"Isabella, we advanced to the Champions League Final. How could I not be happy?"

"I know, I know. I'm sorry."

"Besides, I'm on some heavy pain killers right now." He takes a deep breath. "No need to have my liver working extra hard tonight."

Ah, of course…

I look him in the eyes, all humor gone from my voice. "So, you're delaying the surgery even further?"

"Three weeks, to be precise." He seems to be unable to stop smiling tonight, and when he pulls three fingers up, in front of me, those lines on the side of his face stretch again. "Three weeks."

"Edward..."

"The Champions League Final, Isabella... In three weeks, we will be playing in the final!"

I sigh. "I know, but is it safe for you to continue playing like this?"

"Can we talk about something else?" He frowns, and I feel like an idiot for ruining his good mood.

Before I can come up with something, he's being dragged up by Jasper.

"You guys are missing all the fun!" Alice says, smiling at me, holding onto Jasper's arm.

Edward is up from his chair, and he extends his hand to me.

He's asking me... to join him... dancing.

Me, dancing, with Edward.

I don't know if I can... I don't know if I should.

"C'mon," he says, with a little wave of his fingers, bringing his hand closer to my arm.

I take his hand and follow his lead as we mingle through the crowds of people dancing. It's not until we get to where the rest of the guys are, that I realize we're still holding hands. My fingers release his awkwardly, and he looks down at our hands briefly before he lets go of my hand.

This is so weird, this energy between us. Strange but at the same time familiar. As soon as our palms are not touching anymore, I find myself missing it.

He smiles at me sweetly, reassuring me that everything is okay. Everyone is buzzing around us, dancing, jumping, chanting. I don't even know what song this is. I can't even hear the lyrics. Edward's eyes won't let me.

He is moving too. This much I know. Not overly exaggerating, but with good rhythm.

I look down, to try to gather myself enough to actually move my body to the beat. When I think I can manage to act like a normal human being, one hand appears on each of my hips, and a body is pressed against my back.

For a moment my body freezes.

Edward wouldn't... he couldn't...

"Did I tell you, you look stunning tonight, Bella?" the voice slurs in my ear.

I look up to find that Edward is no longer in front of me.

With a sigh, my hands surround the ones on my hips as I turn around.

Emmett is swaying in front of me — a huge grin stretching on his face as he pulls my body closer to him, bending his knees.

He starts moving to the music, or tries to at least.

I've never seen Emmett dance, ever. It's incredibly adorable but equally parts irritating since his hands are now more on my butt than my back.

With a hand on his chest, I try to keep a somewhat respectful distance, but it becomes impossible, when he locks his arms around me and brings me closer still.

"Emmett..." I try unhooking his hands from behind me, but he doesn't cooperate. "Em," I say a little louder, to no avail, as he continues to sing into my ear.

"Hey!" With a hand on Emmett's shoulder, an equally wobbly Seth, with that tie still around his forehead, is pulling him back. "Time for shots!" Seth yells, and then laughs wrapping an arm around Emmett. Behind them, Edward peeks at me from under his eyelashes.

As they move away, Edward lingers awkwardly next to me. I can't read the expression on his face, but I am relieved that he came to help. I am certain he's the reason Seth came to get Emmett.

"Are you okay?" he whispers, taking a step closer and reaching for my arm.

"I don't think he should drink any more." I'm a bit shaken up, for having Emmett pressed up against me like that, for having wished it was Edward instead.

"I know..." he says, brushing a finger down my arm. "I'll keep an eye on him."

His eyes burn with unspoken words — words he can't say, words I can't hear — but they're there, I can feel them through the tingling his finger leaves on my skin.

He can feel it too; I am sure of this — despite how hard both of us try to hold back, his eyes still betray him and follow his finger as it meets my wrist.

Taking a deep breath, he shakes his head slightly, before turning back up to look at me and dropping his hand. Then with a nod, he's gone.

I don't make it back to the table, not through Alice at least. She's with a few of the other girls, and we dance in a group for a while.

My eyes keep darting to the guys, who seem to be experimenting with DJing... or at least Seth is. They're jumping, singing, having fun.

When we make it to the table, I realize I was being more obvious than I hoped.

"He's okay, you know?" Alice says next to me as I pull up my chair. My eyes, of course, were on Edward, who's holding Emmett up.

"Emmett?" I look at her and she smiles.

"Yes, who else?" Her eyes dart from me, to the guys, and back to me.

"Emmett, of course. Yes." I sigh, looking at my hands.

Ugh, this is ridiculous.

"Bella, are you okay?"

"Yes..." I peek at her. "I'm just tired. I think I'll just head upstairs."

"Okay, let me just tell Jas and we'll go."

"Please, Alice, you don't have to..."

"It's okay... I'm tired too. Just give me a few minutes, okay?" She gets up from her chair, smiling at me.

"Okay..."

I fidget in the chair, battling with myself, not to turn back and look at them... at him. When I lose, my head slowly turns, and I'm surprised to find Edward standing right behind me. He smiles, as he loosens his tie, but it slowly turns to a wince, when he sits down.

He takes a deep breath and exhales through his nose. "No more dancing for me." When he manages to smile at me again my fingers itch to comfort him, but I don't know how.

The music stops abruptly, and we both turn our heads to the disc play, where Seth is double over laughing, before he apologizes and restarts the sound.

"Hope he won't be quitting his day job," Edward jokes, his eyes on me again.

I notice how his hand is rubbing his leg as he stretches it under the table. Have the pain meds stop working? Worriedly, my body turns in his direction, and when he frowns, I reach for his arm.

Edward gaze focuses behind my shoulder, and his whole body stiffens. Before I can ask, my chair is pulled back.

"Bella..." I recognize Emmett's voice and see his knees straddling me in my chair as he sits on the one behind me. "Stay with me tonight," he whispers into my neck.

Edward looks away from me, staring down at his hands, his shoulders tense as he clenches and unclenches his hands into fists.

"One last night, Bella, please." Emmett starts kissing my neck, as I try to pull out of his embrace.

The noise of the chair legs scraping against the floor makes me cringe as Edward shoots up from his chair in front of me.

"Please..." I try pulling at Emmett's arms, but he hugs me even tighter, burying his face in my neck. "Em, no."

"Emmett, stop." When his voice comes from behind Emmett, my breath catches in my throat.

"Not now, Cullen." There's no lightness in Emmett tone even though he slurs.

"She doesn't want this, c'mon." Edward's tone is clipped, and I find myself relieved that I can't see his face.

"What do you know of what she wants?!" Even in his exasperation, Emmett allows me some room to move. I turn around, still under his arms, to face him. My hands reach from underneath, to cup his face and force him to look at me.

Edward is behind him, one hand tightly clasped on Emmett's shoulder. I can see the muscles of his forearm tense with the force of his grip. He doesn't look at me though, but at the floor.

I force myself to focus on Emmett, my hands still around his face. "Em..." His eyes are unfocused, his lids drooping. "Stop this, you're acting crazy."

Emmett takes a deep breath, and surprisingly, so does Edward.

Edward puts his arm around Emmett, crouching next to us. "Hey," he starts softly. "I think that's more tequila than any of us can handle. Let's just call it a night, all right?"

"Yeah..." Emmett sits back on the chair, finally letting go of my waist.

Edward gets up, white-knuckling the chair. My eyes send him a silent thank you, and he nods. He pats Emmett on the back, prompting him to get up.

Emmett's eyes are on me, through slits, and he smiles. "Bella, we're in the final!"

"I know," I smile, getting up from the chair. "Let's go."

Emmett stumbles with the chair as he gets up, and if it wasn't for Edward who caught him, he would have knocked me over too.

Emmett laughs loudly as Edward secures one arm around him, all traces of good humor gone from his face.

I walk in front of them to the lobby, while I text Alice to let her know I'm leaving with them.

As we wait for the elevator, Emmett smiles at me while Edward frowns, facing down.

When I think things can't possibly get more awkward, we get in. As the door closes, Emmett launches at me, of course, still arms-wrapped with Edward, pulling him too so I'm caged by both of them against the elevator wall.

"Jesus!" Edward curses under his breath, as he holds himself up against the wall. His hand is next to my neck, forearm tense as he tries to push himself, and Emmett, off me.

"Bella... the Champions League Final!" Emmett clumsily runs a hand down my face. I could have laughed, if it wasn't for the rage emanating from Edward. I feel he is very close to just letting Emmett go and storming out of here.

"I know..." I say, trying to contain my giggles. "It's pretty amazing."

"You're pretty amazing..." Emmett slurs. "And pretty."

Emmett's body is flung away from me, and him and Edward are resting against the opposite wall. Edward is panting, holding Emmett up, frowning, and wincing.

"Do you know who's pretty amazing too?" Emmett asks, a little louder than really needed. "This one!" Emmett smacks a hand on Edward's chest. Edward loses his footing, and barely holds onto the wall, keeping them from falling over.

"Dammit, Emmett, settle down!"

"I'm just being honest! What you've done for our team..." Emmett closes a hand over Edward's shirt, fisting it in the middle of his chest. "I love you, man."

I can't contain my laugh anymore as Emmett plants a wet kiss on Edward's cheek.

Edward doesn't find it too funny, and he glares at me while pushing Emmett off himself and wiping his cheek with the back of his hand.

We finally make it to the door, and Edward groans as he fishes his left pocket. "Where's your key?" he asks Emmett.

Eyes on me, Emmett grins. "It's in my pocket. Bella, want to get it f-"

Before he can finish, Edward's got his hand in Emmett's pocket and gets the key out. "Hey!" Emmett complains as he is being dragged inside. "At least buy me dinner first!" he laughs.

I follow behind until Edward dumps Emmett on his bed. "What a buzz kill, man," Emmett slurs.

"Yeah, yeah..." Edward grunts as he takes Emmett's shoes off.

"Also, you didn't say I love you back!" Emmett says and Edward peeks at me, not even that gets a smile on his face.

With an annoyed sigh, Edward dumps Emmett's feet on the bed, and then stretches his back, a hand immediately on his hip. He's been carrying Emmett around tonight, in his 6'5'', 200 pounds entirety. That can't be good for his hip.

"Bella!" Emmett sits up suddenly, reaching for my arm. He tugs on my wrist, a little harder than he needs to, and I flop on the bed.

"Emmett, I swear to God..." Edward clasps a hand around Emmett's arm while I sit up.

"I just need to talk to her. What the fuck is your problem?!"

I wrap my hand over Edward's who's tightly gripping Emmett's forearm. "It's okay..." I rub my fingers over his skin reassuringly. I can handle Emmett right now. As soon as his head hits that pillow, I expect him to be out cold.

Edward's eyes turn to me in disbelief. I can see the burning anger in his eyes, but he doesn't utter a word. With a breath, he releases Emmett's arm and leaves.

I scoot closer to Emmett, and with a hand on his chest, push him down. "Just try to sleep. You've had a long day."

He exhales loudly as he lays down, puts a hand over my hand on his chest. "Shit, Bella... I've never felt so accomplished before. No one gave two shits about us in this tournament... and look where we are! We just kept Madrid from the final! Ha!" He stares at the ceiling as he speaks.

"It's been an incredible season..." I rub my fingers on his chest. I can feel his heart beating fast, but as he goes on about the game, he slurs more and calms down further. In a few minutes, he's sound asleep and softly snoring.

My fingers try futilely to arrange some of the hair on his head. He looks so peaceful, it's hard to believe the mess he was making a few minutes ago. He was happy, for the most part, and it was refreshing to see him that way.

My eyes shift to the door, my mind to the man waiting outside — will he also be okay?


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15.

I find Edward on the couch, one leg stretched, his hand rubbing on it. His head is rested back as he stares at the ceiling. He must be so exhausted. I can't believe the night this ended up to be.

I make it to the couch and sit on my knees next to him. He makes no movement to acknowledge my presence. "Thank you," I start, reaching for his arm. "For helping me with Emmett."

The tingle I felt earlier tonight, from the contact of his skin, is back, and makes the hair on my arm stand on its ends. I cowardly withdraw, clasping my hands between my legs.

I am not ready to admit or pretend to know what is happening between us, but I also can't deny it any longer — there's a connection I feel with him, one that I have not felt in a long time.

"Hey, are you okay?" I ask, since he still faces the ceiling.

He takes a deep breath before he faces me. "I keep promising myself I won't do this... that I won't get in between you two, but somehow I always do, and I hate it."

"I'm sorry." I stare at my hands guiltily. Of course he hates it, and I keep dragging him into it.

"I just need to ask one thing," he says unwaveringly. "I know it's none of my business, and if you don't want to answer, that's fine."

"What is it?" My voice is barely a whisper under the force of his stare.

"Are you two getting back together?" His eyes bore into mine as he utters the words.

I don't even have to think about it. "No."

After tonight, if there's one thing I know is this — Emmett and I, we'll never be a couple again. I will do anything in my power to remain his friend, to have him in my life, and be there for him, but I can't give him anything more than that.

We will both be okay. He will be okay.

Edward releases a breath in front of me, and I don't know if he's relieved or troubled by what I just said.

His fingers scratch his forehead as he looks down. I wish I could say something that would make him feel better, but honestly, as much as everything about Emmett is clear in my head, everything about Edward is just a big mess.

When did it get so complicated between us?

In the four years I've known him, he's always been so distant, so avoiding of me. I search my brain for any time in those four years where there had been any sign, any connection between us. And except for the time we met, I come up empty handed.

"I need to ask something too," I say, almost a whisper.

His eyes burn into mine, but he remains quiet.

"When we first met, I thought that maybe you and I... then um... when Emmett first asked me out, he made it sound like... I thought it might be like a group date... I thought..."

"You thought what?"

"I thought you'd be there too..." I remember it as if it was yesterday. I remember how his eyes bore into mine, just as they do now. Why was he hiding before? Why have I never felt that again until now? I felt a connection with him that day. I even still have the picture I took of him with the kids.

He covers his face with his hands.

"But then when we did see each other again... you ignored me. It was like I wasn't even there... so then I assumed I had imagined the whole thing..." I trail off as the memories of that first day hit me.

He scoots closer. " "You didn't, Isabella, you hadn't" His hand reaches for my face, his thumb on my cheek. "I had to keep a distance though. He's my best friend. I couldn't... I… I can't." His hand drops from my cheek and he gets up.

I sigh looking down.

A loud knocking on the door makes me jump from the couch. My hand is on the side of my face, where my cheek still tingles from the touch of Edward's fingers.

I can hear singing from the other side of the door. The knocking continues and I turn to look at Edward, hoping for some guidance. I find none, as he is back on the couch, his head is down in his hands, elbows resting on his knees.

I open the door, because what else am I supposed to do, and in comes Seth, completely wasted, yet energized enough to be chanting the Champions League anthem at the top of his lungs.

He flies past me, almost knocking me over, heading straight for Emmett's room.

"Yeah, he's out cold…" Seth says, as he comes back out. "We're going to the pool. You guys wanna come?" He asks, his eyes thinned into slits.

"It's past four in the morning..." Edward mutters under his breath.

"Alright, grandpa... what do you say, Bella?"

I shake my head at Seth with a small smile.

Just as suddenly as he came in, he's gone.

I'm left standing awkwardly in the middle of the room, while Edward, still on the couch, rubs his neck without looking at me.

"Maybe I should go too..." I say.

I notice his struggle to get up from the couch. His hand on his hip, his face in a frown and he doesn't object to me leaving.

"Are you ok?" I ask, and he avoids my eyes as he nods, slightly composing his face. "Is your hip bothering you?"

"I'm fine." He walks to the door without limping, and I follow in silence. "Are you staying with Alice?" His eyes finally meet mine as he opens the door for me.

"Edward, you don't have to-"

"It's okay, let's go." With a tiny smile that looks like it took a lot of effort to put there, and a hand at the small of my back, he steers me out of the room.

We walk in silence to the elevator. He stays close to me, but his mind seems to be a million miles away. I twist and untwist my fingers, fidgeting and biting my lip, the few seconds it takes the elevator to make it to the seventh floor. Edward stays completely still and tense.

"Thank you," I say when we arrive at Alice's door.

He smiles again, forcefully, with a nod. My stomach churns — he's trying so hard.

As I turn away from him, and my hand lifts to knock on the door, the noise that comes from inside halts my fist in the air. Some piece of furniture is clearly banging against the wall.

Oh...

I take one step back, dropping my hand altogether, as I clearly make out the moans coming from the inside.

Oh shit...

Edward exhales; leaning onto the wall, and softly bangs his forehead against it.

Clearly the possibility of me going back to the room with him is not his preferred option.

I fish for my cell in my purse. "I can call her, and they'll have to stop."

Edward groans, pushing himself off the wall. When he faces me, he has only marginally composed his face. "I think we should let Jasper have this." He reaches for my hand and gestures with his head to the hallway. "Come."

He lets go of my hand after a few steps. With each one he tenses further, and by the time we make it to the elevator, he is full on limping.

With the ding of the closing doors, he rests against the elevator wall with a deep exhale of relief.

"You're not okay." I know he doesn't want me to worry, and he's been trying really hard to pretend that he is fine, but he's not. He's clearly in pain, and I don't know how to help him.

"I'm f-"

"I swear to God, Edward, if you tell me you're fine one more time!"

His eyes widen at my outburst.

The elevator dings again as the doors open, and I hold the door with my hand.

He limps out, his hand gripping his hip tightly. At least he's not pretending anymore.

"Is there something you can take?" I ask as we get back in their suite.

"It's too soon," he says turning around to face me. "It's always worse after a game... especially one like today's... or yesterday's..." His free hand works on loosening his tie further and swings it off his neck. "I can take something in a couple of hours. It will pass, okay, please don't worry."

I huff, my hands on my hips.

"You can take my bed," he continues. "I could give you a shirt, if you want to... um... change out of that dress." His eyes betray him as they scan my dress, until he stares at his feet, scratching his neck. "Or you could get one of Emmett's'" He shrugs.

"I'm not taking your bed, Edward." I sigh.

"I won't even be able to sleep... Please, just-" When he winces again, grabbing onto his hip, as he shifts his weight to one leg, my body moves to him on its own.

My instincts kick in and, with a hand on his arm, I help him to the couch. "Just sit for a second, okay?"

He sinks on the couch with a huff. His head resting back as he stretches his leg, lifting it from the floor, as his hand rubs the top of his thigh. I pull the coffee table closer, so that his foot can rest on top of it. "Does that help?"

He looks at the table with a smile, and then turns to me. "It does, thank you."

"Is there anything else I can get for you?" I sit on my knees, next to him.

"I have two hours to kill..." His eyes bore into mine. "I could use a distraction."

I blink a couple times, because his words mean so little but so much at the same time. That weird tension sets between us again, and the little space between him and I on this couch is charged, buzzing. My hands twitch over my knees and he swallows hard.

"I'm sorry," he blinks, looking down, finally releasing me from the numbing force of being under his gaze. "I didn't mean... that's not..."

"No..." I shake my head. "I know. A distraction — that's exactly what we need." I reach for the remote on the carpet and sit back next to him. I turn the TV on and try to rest my feet on the coffee table, mimicking his pose, except my legs aren't long enough.

He chuckles next to me, my legs opting for a bent position instead, as I flip the channels.

At least I got him to chuckle, and the weird tension between us starts to dissipate.

On ESPN, they're interviewing Ronaldo, the defeat is clear in his eyes.

"We tried... but we couldn't create enough opportunities. I had no luck on either flank. Their pressing was superb, and left little room for me to do anything."

"That's you." I nudge Edward on his side. "He means you!"

"It was a team effort..."

"Edward, you... you kept Ronaldo, THE Cristiano Ronaldo, from scoring."

"He deserves all the hype he gets, by the way. He is absolutely brilliant. I never had to work so hard to mark anyone ever before."

"Yet you did. You completely owned him. You!"

"All right, stop." He smiles, taking the remote from me, and I could swear there's a bit of a blush setting on his cheeks.

"You were incredible today." I say with a sigh, resting my head to the side. He truly was.

He flips channels for a while and we remain in silence. My eyes start fluttering close despite my efforts. It's been a long day, and as much as I want to keep him company until he can take his pain meds, at some point I lose the battle with sleep.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter 16.

I open my eyes, still deep in sleep confusion. Before I can move, I feel his fingers, running on my hair, behind my ear. That's when I realize I'm on his chest and I have no idea how I got here. I take a purposeful, deep breath and his fingers still. Once he is aware that I am awake, his hand is off my hair at once, and his body tenses under me.

I lift my head, rubbing my eyes. When I find his, he gives me a timid smile. I slowly sit up and look around, the room is bright now, the TV still on. My eyes find him again, he looks so tired.

"Have you slept at all?"

He shakes his head.

"Why don't you rest for a bit."

"We leave in an hour..." He stretches his arms over his head, cracking his back and exhales.

"Edward..."

He gets up from the couch with a grunt, grabbing his leg. "I just have to get through today..." he says. "If I snooze during the day, I won't get any sleep tonight."

He takes another step and wobbles, his face suddenly scrunching in pain. He reaches for one of the chairs, his hand tightly gripping onto the wooden frame as he tries to take a deep breath.

"Hey," I come close to him but stop when he bangs his hand on the chair once, twice.

"Shit!"

"What is it?"

"I'm sorry," he says through his teeth.

"For what?" I ask, clearly at a loss as to what he could be possibly sorry for. For all I know, only Edward would dare to apologize for being in pain…

"Cursing..." he explains.

Of course… I smile, running a hand down his arm. "Please, don't worry about that... Are you okay?"

His eyes are tightly closed as he shakes his head.

My smile falters at his admission — Edward is never not okay. This is bad. "Is it always like this the day after a game?" My hand moves up and down his arm as my brain struggles to grasp the magnitude of the situation.

"No," he chokes out.

"Didn't you take something?"

"Yes..." He takes a deep breath, trying to collect himself. "It did not work." He's not able to stand upright anymore, and as he bends over, hands gripping the chair, he hides his face in his arms to muffle a groan.

Unsure on how to help him, and unable to stand watching him like this, I rush to Emmett's room.

I'm on my knees in the bed, next to Emmett who is half covered by the sheets. "Em..." I shake him softly. "Emmett, wake up."

"Ten more minutes, please," he moans, still asleep.

"Em, it's Edward..."

"What's wrong?" With only one eye open, he turns to face me.

"I don't know. He's in a lot of pain. I think you should call the medical staff."

Emmett is alert instantly, and he hops off the bed. "Aw fuck!" He grabs his head in his hands, probably already regretting everything he drank last night.

"I'll get you some water," I say as he searches for his pants on the floor.

Out in the living room, Edward is still bent at the waist, holding on to the chair.

Emmett comes out of the bedroom, his cellphone on his ear, and he's already talking with the doctor. I hand him the water bottle and rush back to Edward.

He's moaning and groaning and cursing through his teeth.

"Edward..." I say softly, rubbing his back with my hand. "The doctor is on his way."

"He'll be right up," Emmett adds.

"Would it help to lay down on the couch?" I ask, keeping my hand on his back, trying to help. He is panting from the pain and sweating through his shirt. As he doesn't say anything, I look up to Emmett for some guidance.

My eyes are watering in desperation, and Emmett stares at me, frowning.

"Emmett?!"

He snaps right out of it thankfully, and rushes closer to us. He grabs Edward's arm, closing it over his neck, while securing him from underneath and helping him to the couch.

Once he's on his back, Edward exhales in relief. I stay close to him, kneeling next to the couch. He covers his eyes with his hand, and my stomach sinks as I see a tear run down his cheek to his ear.

When there's a knock on the door, I look up at Emmett, whose eyes flicker from me, to Edward, to my hand on Edward's shoulder, to me again. As he doesn't move, I jump from the floor and rush to the door, letting Dr. Braun in.

"Alright, what happened?" Braun asks, approaching Edward, and sitting on the coffee table.

Edward takes a few deep breaths, and clears his throat. "I don't know..." His voice is hoarse from the exertion. "When I got up from the couch, I felt a snap and it kind of locked in place, I can't move my leg. It hasn't stopped hurting since."

"Did you take the Toradol?" Braun asks.

"At six in the morning."

The doctor looks at his watch and sighs. "Do you want a shot then? We're going to have to scan as soon as we get to Dortmund, Edward."

"I don't know about the shot..." Edward's words come out in a rush. "I already had one yesterday and..."

"You won't be able to travel like this," Braun interrupts.

My head swims with the words being thrown at me, drugs, shots, how much pain has he been in?

Edward groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Dammit!"

"Okay, let's take him to the bedroom," Braun instructs Emmett, and they both help Edward up and to the bedroom. His eyes are shut tight the whole time.

Emmett comes out of Edward's bedroom, scratching his side. "I think he's getting the shot," he says as I approach him. "He'll be fine." He pats a hand on my shoulder awkwardly. "I need to shower."

It's only until he says it that I realize he's still in just his boxers, and that I'm wearing my dress from last night.

"Yeah, me too," I say, wiping some tears from my cheeks. He avoids my eyes and remains quiet. "I'll go get ready at Alice's room. I'll meet you guys downstairs?"

"Yeah. We leave in an hour."

It doesn't take a genius to realize there's something up with Emmett. My mind, however, has no room for that now, so with an "Okay" I leave.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

I sit in the lobby of the hotel, Alice on one side, my bag on the other. A few of the guys and the staff are downstairs already, most of them with shades covering their eyes. I'm sure none of them got any sleep last night.

There are cameras everywhere.

But where is he?

I bite my nails, and I wait.

Where is he?

I am close to heading upstairs, to their room, when out of the elevator they come. Emmett and Edward, side by side, in their matching team three-piece suits. Emmett does not have the cardigan on, just the shirt, the loose tie, and the jacket. His hair disheveled, face scruffy, and his Wayfarers on.

Edward instead has the jacket folded over one arm, and his perfectly done tie just peeking from under the neck of the cardigan.

Edward walks out of the elevator and into the lobby. Walking slowly but not limping. He's clean-shaven. His hair is perfectly gelled in place, and despite the shadows under his eyes, he looks sharp.

Better than sharp.

His eyes connect with me briefly, and when he throws me a small smile, I breathe out in relief. He's okay — he seems okay.

They are quickly swarmed by press and staff and everyone organizing us to get out of here.

When Emmett finds his way to me, he carries our tickets and badges. He's quiet, pensive, the whole way to the airport, and he doesn't address me until we take our seats on the first row of the plane.

"Bella?"

"Yeah?" I can't hide the relief in my voice for having him finally break the dreaded silence.

"I just wanted to apologize for last night. I have the feeling I behaved like an ass."

"You were a bit out of control, yes."

"I'm sorry." He sounds genuinely apologetic, ashamed even.

"It's okay. We kept you out of trouble." I try for a casual tone and a matching smile.

"Right..." He looks down, taking a deep breath. "I just..." He looks back up. "I want you to know that I can be your friend. I meant what I said. I want you in my life, okay?"

His eyebrows are scrunched in the middle, and even though his eyes are covered by his sunglasses, his expression seems pained.

"Hey," I reach for his hand. "I'm here, okay. You won't get rid of me so easily." I try jokingly but he barely smiles. "Are you okay?"

He nods, looking out the window, and lets go of my hand.

As the plane starts filling up, I wonder what else is bothering him. Has he finally realized we're just not meant to be a couple? I love Emmett with all my heart, I want everything that is good to happen to him, but he's not the man for me.

I'm not the one for him.

I really hope we can stay friends, even as we move on, to other people.

I wonder how jealous I would be when he gets a new girl.

That train of thought dies as Edward walks onto the plane, and like magnets our eyes find each other's instantly. My heart skips a beat as his laugh lines brighten his face. He walks by me, shaking his head slightly, leaving behind a trail of his perfume.

God, I am so screwed.

As the plane takes off, it starts quieting down. Given how mostly everyone stayed up last night, it doesn't take long for them to pass out. Even Emmett, is already softly snoring next to me.

I make it out of my seat, in an attempt to use the restroom. It's all an excuse, though. I just need to make sure Edward is okay.

I find him towards the back of the plane, the window seat next to him empty. There's a book in lap, his hand with a finger marking a page. His head has drooped to one side. His eyes closed.

He is sleeping.

His face seems peaceful, relaxed, which gives me hope that he is not in pain at this moment.

Am I staring? I think I might be.

I'll walk away soon enough, I just need to reassure myself... he's okay.

I take a deep breath and get ready to get back to my seat, when he opens his eyes.

"I'm sorry... I didn't mean to-" I whisper.

"You didn't." He smiles, shifting in his seat. He places his book on the armrest.

"Please, go back to sleep. I'm so sorry." I turn around to escape but his hand closes around my wrist.

"I wasn't sleeping. Where are you going?"

"Back to my seat."

"Oh... right... sorry." He releases my wrist, and I sigh.

I turn around again, but stop myself with a hand on the seat in front of Edward. When I face him again, he's looking right at me... with that smile, the one that feels like it has my name written all over it. I need a deep breath before I can ask. "Are you okay?"

He nods, scooting up in his seat, shifting his leg to the side. He eyes the seat next to him, and I realize he's made room for me to join him.

I glance around me for a second, everyone seems fast asleep. Not that it matters. I can just sit with Edward for a while, right? It's not weird. It shouldn't be. Is it weird?

I lower myself in the seat next to the window; my lip attacked by my teeth in anxiety. What the hell am I doing?

"Would you stop worrying about me?" He starts, his body shifting slightly in my direction.

"Not possible." I eye him sincerely. "Would you stop hiding things from me?"

"Was the pathetic display earlier today not enough for you?"

"What you're going through is heroic, not pathetic, okay?"

"I'm fiiine." He breathes out heavily, stretching the syllable in annoyance.

"Stop." I try to muster some kind of authority with my voice, but unfortunately, the way he's staring at me, with that light in his eyes, is turning my insides into putty.

"I'm fine right now, I swear." With a look at my face and my exasperated sigh, he chuckles. "Don't get mad."

"I'm not mad. I had never seen you like that. It was so scary!"

"I'm sorry you had to see that."

"Why didn't you go to bed?" I ask. "Sitting on that couch, all night... surely didn't help." He stays quiet while his eyes bore into mine. "I told you I wouldn't take your bed," I continue. "Why didn't you go lay down?"

"Hey, I stayed on that couch willingly," he says with a shrug, an almost too casual shrug.

"Why?"

"You really want me to spell it out?" He counters. "I wanted to stay there..." He pauses, looking down. "...with you."

My mouth hangs open, whatever comeback I had planned, dead in my tongue.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that," he backtracks.

I sigh, deciding we probably shouldn't get into that right now. Not in the closed confines of this plane, not with his whole team surrounding us, not with Emmett, albeit asleep, only a few rows in front of us.

"So..." he says, rubbing his hands over his thighs, both of us desperate for a change of subject. "When do you go back to Munich?"

"Tonight, on the 6 pm train."

"What will you do all day?"

"I'll wait at the station. It's okay, I have my computer, I can catch up on work."

"I could-"

"No."

"What?!" His lips stretch while he tries to contain a smile and pretend to be in shock.

"Whatever you were going to offer… No. You have rehabilitation, and an MRI scan, right? Then you need to go home and rest."

"Geez..." He smiles. "Okay." He takes a deep breath before he continues. "Listen, about what you said last night-"

The words die in his throat as a sleepy Seth gets up from the seat in front of us. Seth never looks our way, but it still serves as a reminder of where I am sitting and where I should be. When my eyes find Edward's, I can see his thoughts have wandered down the same direction as mine.

"I should get going." I say and I notice how his jaw clenches infinitely. If I wasn't so obsessed with staring at his face I might have even missed it. "Are you sure you are okay?"

"Yes." He says bluntly.

"Okay," I say, getting up from the seat. I squeeze between his legs and the back of Seth's seat. "I'm glad you're feeling better."

His eyes follow mine, a taint of sadness in them, but he recovers quickly, and nods at me.

Emmett is still asleep as I sit next to him again. I try to read; try to sleep to no avail. The hour left on the flight drags, and as much effort as I put into it, I cannot get Edward's gaze out of my head. The way he looks at me, the way he smiles at me, what I feel when his fingers brush over my skin.

How could this happen now? He's been there, right there, for so long, and except for the first time we met, it feels like he's made an effort to keep his distance from me. Like a switch, he turned off whatever connection we had, and became Emmett's 'I-keep-to-myself' friend.

Now he is very much here and I don't ever want him to go away.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~


	17. Chapter 17

EPOV

One more step — just one step at a time.

I got through this morning; I got through the flight, even through the bus ride from the airport to here. Now I just have to get through this — I have to see her leave, let her go, without even saying goodbye.

I lean against the wall, my bag at my feet, as I unapologetically stare at them. Emmett carries her bag to the trunk of the car that's taking her to the train station. When they hug, I look down and try to ignore the pain that sets in my chest.

I was able to contain this before, for the four years I've seen them together. This hug — this hug is nothing compared to some of the gestures I've endured, even after purposely and diligently staying away from them. I used to be able to tolerate eating dinner with them staring lovingly at each other in front of me. Now this hug, this hug makes me want to dry heave.

I've lost it. I've lost this battle. I thought I could be close to her, but it hurts too much.

As I Iook up, I catch her eyes, staring right at me, and my body reacts as if a shot of adrenaline has just been pumped into my chest. I stand taller instinctively, no longer slumping against the wall. I feel stronger, and my lips, which I seem to be unable to control anymore, stretch into a smile for her... just for her.

When she looks at me this way though, I can't do it. It will be excruciating, but I can't stay away from her. Not anymore. Not ever again.

Her fingers wiggle discreetly, just barely above her jeans' front pocket, in a little wave just for me. I nod in return, and with that seemingly meaningless gesture we say goodbye along with everything else we don't allow ourselves to say.

As the car speeds off with her inside, the weight of yesterday's game, last night, this morning, and everything else sets heavily on my shoulders. The extra bit of energy, strength and motivation I had all but a minute ago also disappears with the brake-lights of her car down the road.

As soon as I can no longer feel her, I slump back against the wall and wait for everyone to get their things so we can start getting inside. I just need to get through rehabilitation and my meeting with the medic staff; then I can finally go home.

I can't think of other times I've been as tired as today, both mentally and physically — I'm shattered.

I manage to stay awake during my massage, barely, mostly because everything hurts. The stretching exercises outside go as smoothly as they can go. At least they help me release some tension in my back, which is sore from constantly compensating for my hip.

Even though he works out next to me the whole time, Emmett remains quiet, but every now and then, I catch him staring at me. I don't pay him much attention of course, until he sits next to me on the bench, a towel around his neck, and nudges me on the side.

"What are you doing after?" he probes.

"I haven't slept," I say looking at him, shielding my eyes from the sun. "I need to go home."

"Oh..." He avoids my eyes awkwardly. "I could drive you home if you want."

I get that feeling in my stomach then, as I look at Emmett's fidgety form: something is up with him. He wants to talk to me, and I just know it's about Isabella.

What if he wants her back? Could that be what this is about? He wants her, and he wants to talk to me about it.

I can't.

Not today. Not ever, I don't think.

"It's okay. I can drive." I give him as casually as I can manage.

"Come on, you look pretty whipped to me." He gets up in a rush, giving me no time to answer, as he starts walking away. "I'll wait for you after your scan."

I seriously contemplate leaving — turning around, getting in my car and leaving.

What can Braun say that I don't already know?

My hip is wrecked — what else is new?

It's gotten worse — you don't say!

The incessant pain and the absolute failure of the pain killers don't lie — I don't need a scan to tell me that. It's not going to make a difference though. Nothing will keep me from that game in three weeks. I won't quit now.

Dr. Braun, of course, does not disappoint. I sit on that examining table and hear him go on and on about it: How it has most definitely gotten worse. How I needed that surgery yesterday.

"It's just one more game," I say before I yawn — the examining table looking more and more inviting for a nap.

"It's not. The game is in three weeks. You can't just not play until then. You'll need to train, and stay match fit."

"I'll just take it easy in the next two games, then." I shrug.

"Edward, I'm not clearing you."

Until then, I had been staring at my feet, dangling from the table, but as he says the words, my head snaps up. "What?! No. You have to."

"I can't. I don't think you should play anymore. If it was up to me, you'd be on rest starting right now and as soon as the inflammation goes down, I'd have you in that OR."

"It can wait three weeks, Braun, come on."

"I won't make that call." He crosses his arms over his chest, staring sternly at me.

This can't be happening. "Then what?"

"You'll have to see the specialist in Munich. He will be the one performing the surgery on you anyways. He'll have to clear you." He's already walked back to his desk and is ruffling his desk in search for a piece of paper.

"You can't be serious."

"You think you can get to Munich by tomorrow night?" he asks without looking at me while he fills in a form. "I'll make an appointment right now."

"Do I even have a choice?"

He shakes his head, leaving the room.

I hang my head in my hands. This can't be possible. They won't keep me from the Champions League final.

When there's a knock on the door, I'm ready to tell Braun that I need to talk to Coach first, and that I won't take no for an answer, but as luck would have it, it's not him who is at the door.

I had all but forgotten I was to make my escape before Emmett got here. I hobble down from the table with a groan grabbing my hip because, as if I don't have enough to deal with at the moment, it has decided to start hurting again.

I groan and I limp and I groan again, searching for my shirt and my pants, as Emmett just stands quietly watching me from across the room.

"Emmett, I can't do this right now," I bark, once I'm clothed.

"What happened?" he asks, genuine concern coloring his voice.

I have to pause, panting, and clasping a hand on my hip. I should have had that stupid shot this morning. After some stretches and massages, the pain was manageable again, so I decided against it, because I had already had one after the game. The shots mask the pain too much and they interfere with my healing. I was doing fine earlier, now I'm about to double over from the pain.

"Hey..." Emmett's hand is on my shoulder, as he helps me back and I rest against the table. I take deep breaths and think of pretty brown eyes until I manage to straighten my back again.

I look up to Emmett, once I have gotten myself together.

"Your hip's kaput?" I only manage to nod at him. "Will you make it to the final?"

"I don't know..." I answer through my teeth. "He wants me to see the specialist."

"In Munich?"

"Yeah..." I scratch my neck, resting back against the table, trying to get some weight off my leg.

"How much pain are you in, bro?"

"It's never been this bad," I admit.

"So you're going to Munich?" he asks, stepping away from the table.

"I guess..." I watch him pace in front of me, pulling at his hair.

 _Oh no._ I know where this is going.

 _No, no, no._

 _Please._

"You know..." Emmett starts. "You really scared Bella this morning..." His eyes burn as he mentions her name, and so does everything inside me.

I look down, trying to hide my face from him.

 _I can't do this right now, Emmett. Please. Don't make me._

"She cried and shit." The chuckle that comes out of Emmett is a humorless one.

"She worries too much." I eye the door, willing Braun to please come back in, as I fail to keep the images of Isabella asleep on my chest from assaulting my brain.

"I think she cares about you," Emmett says, taking me by surprise.

I shoot him a glance, and he is still staring pointedly at me.

I get the feeling this conversation isn't going toward Emmett wanting Isabella back.

This is about me.

He knows.

He's seen through me.

My leg starts bouncing and I can't help it. I'm a terrible liar. Can I lie to Emmett? Can I lie about Isabella at all?

"Don't you think?" Emmett insists.

I clasp my hands around the edges of the table to keep from biting my nails.

"Well, as a friend... of course." I manage to say.

"Nah..." Emmett shakes his head, resumes his pacing. "I've seen how she looks at you." He pauses again, shooting me a glance. "How you look at her these days."

I hang my head. I don't have the strength to do this. Not today.

He knows, and I can't deny it and insult him even further. I couldn't possibly be a worse friend.

As I rake my barely functioning brain for a way to properly apologize to him, he keeps going.

"For the longest time I thought you didn't like her. You were so polite, so respectful, but always avoiding of her." My friend, my brother, figures everything out. "You were just trying to stay away from her, weren't you? Out of respect... for me?"

My mouth hangs open, but no sounds come out.

"The day I met her, before I told you about her, you said you had met someone too. It was her for you too, wasn't it?"

I sink deeper and deeper. I can't even find my voice to admit this to him.

"Cullen, do you love her?" There's hurt, anger in his eyes.

"Emmett, I swear..." I make myself say. "Nothing has happened between us. Nothing. I have not touched her, and I never will. I promise."

"That's not what I asked," he says simply, leaving me speechless again. "Are you in love with her?"

I can't.

 _I can't._

"Fuck, man… all of this time?"

"It's not like that..." I wish there was a way to explain, but no words seem appropriate. "You guys seemed happy, and I thought..." I lose my train of thought, try another angle instead. "Then I was with Rosalie, and well..."

"Why didn't you say something? You're like a brother to me!"

"What was I supposed to say?!"

Emmett resumes his pacing one more time, pulling at his hair.

"I'm so sorry," is all I can say from my hunched position on the table. If I thought I was exhausted before...

Emmett takes a deep breath, and when he walks to me I decide that if he wants to hit me, I'll let him. Firstly, because I can barely manage to stay up anyway, and secondly, because I deserve it.

In preparation, my body tenses. I hope he goes for my face instead of my body, but at this point, I don't really care.

When he sits on the table next to me with a sigh, I relax, marginally.

"Do you think..." he pauses, until I'm looking at him. "Do you think she might have feelings for you too?" The hurt is still in his eyes, but there's no hate there. I don't think he will hit me after all.

"I don't know," I say honestly. "I'm so sorry, Emmett. I promise… nothing will happen. I will get over it, and if you want me to, I'll stay away from her."

Emmett chuckles humorlessly again. "Well… that would be stupid."

I blink at him, unable to see where this is going.

"What if it's you who she wants... what if you're the one who's gonna make her happy?"

"I… I…" Words fail me. My brain collapses with thoughts, my heart with feelings I've kept bottled for way too long.

"How can I stand in between..." He takes a deep breath, his hands on his head. "How could I do that to her?"

I know Emmett, better than my own brother. I know this would kill him. He loves Isabella — I can never have her.

"How could I do that to you though?" I say the words, hurt with the realization: Isabella and I can never happen.

"Well..." He shakes his head slightly, getting off from the table, before turning back to look at me, his expression calm, resigned. "It might take me some time to get used to the idea... of... you two... but, I don't see how Bella and I could be together that way anymore."

I struggle to come to terms with what he's trying to say, my brain finding it hard to make sense of anything.

"All I'm saying is, if you're going to Munich, maybe you should call Bella and figure out how she feels."

My head drops, and I hold on tightly to the edges of the table. I am completely overwhelmed. I don't think I could have ever seen this coming. Could Emmett really be so rational about this? I feel like I could pass out, that my brain is going to shut down any minute, because the amount of possibilities swimming in my head is simply just too much.

"Hey..." Emmett sets a hand on my shoulder, gripping it tightly. "Are you sure you don't want a ride? You look just about ready to collapse."

The air filling my chest helps me straighten my back, and when I look up at Emmett his eyes show nothing but compassion, understanding, even... pity?

Do I really look that bad?

"I'm fine," I tell him and he drops his hand from my shoulder then, taking a step back. "I'll go straight home after this."

"Okay..." He moves to leave, but turns to me once more as he opens the door.

"What ever happened to Rosalie?" He asks at the door. "I remember her," he gestures with his hands in the shape of breasts on his chest. He laughs but then points at me. "I meant what I said." And with that, he's gone.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

A/N: Happy New Year! Hating on Emmett has been a common theme in reviews throughout the story, but I still have to ask… anyone find him redeemable? Is he growing on you a little bit or not at all?


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter 18.

I wait in line at the cashier, grocery basket in one hand, when my phone starts ringing. Edward's name flashing on my screen brings a smile to my face.

"Hey," I answer, while I move up the line. The store is rather crowded, for six on a Thursday afternoon, but it's the only one that's on my way home from work.

"Isabella, hi." He greets me in his traditional fashion — it makes my stomach tingle. "How are you?"

"Okay, just stopping for some groceries on my way home. You?"

"So... I'm in Munich," he says nervously.

I subconsciously take a look around the store. "What do you mean?"

"What do you mean what do I mean?" He chuckles. "Munich, the Bavarian capital. I'm here."

"Why?" I'm surprised, confused even, but an involuntary smile spreads on my face. He's here.

"Uhh… Just have some things to deal with."

"How long are you staying?" _Will I get some time to see you?_

"Leaving tomorrow afternoon."

"God, why didn't you tell me sooner?"

"It just sort of happened... I didn't want to impose. Are... are you busy tonight?"

He sounds shy. It's the most adorable thing ever.

"Yes. I have very important plans tonight."

"Oh..." He sounds deflated. I stifle some giggles into my hand. "It's okay then, no worries."

"I mean, I guess I could cancel my eating-in-front-of-the-TV date... but just for you."

He laughs through his nose. I can hear it through the phone. It's his shy laugh. I could bet my first salary he's staring at his feet.

"Do you want to hang out? It's nice out, we could-"

"I'd rather keep a low profile."

"Oh, well... I was going to make dinner at my place. I guess I can add an extra plate."

"That sounds great," he says, and he sounds... relieved? Excited?

I give him my address and we agree he'll be there in an hour.

Edward is in Munich, and he'll be at my place in one hour!

One look at my sparse grocery basket has me rushing right back into the store.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

I have the chicken cooking in a skillet, the water boiling for the fettuccini, and the Alfredo sauce simmering, when he knocks on my door.

I check quickly, making sure I haven't spilled anything on myself, before I open the door and there he is. I barely had time to get out of my work clothes and take a quick shower, so jeans and a t-shirt is, unfortunately, the best I could come up with for tonight.

Edward stands at my door, all leather jacket and perfectly gelled hair and bright eyes and smile lines stretching on his face. He looks good — pristine as usual — but more importantly, well rested.

"Isabella." He nods, lifting his hand where a wine bottle and a baguette hang from.

"Hi..." I take the bottle and bread from him. "Thank you."

"Smells delicious," he says as he comes in, unzipping his jacket.

"Are you hungry?" I set the wine and the bread on the counter, turning to look at him.

"Starving," he replies instantly, his eyes boring into mine, weakening my knees.

It takes me a few seconds to be able to look away from his eyes. "It will only be a few more minutes." I distract myself giving the sauce a little stir. Through the corner of my eye I see his hands reaching for his hips as he takes a look at my tiny apartment.

"Nice place," he says, folding his jacket over the couch. "Can I help with anything?" He comes closer to the kitchen island, the black v-neck he's wearing fits him just perfectly... stretching just a bit over his chest... it's very distracting.

"Sure..." I shake my head. "Want to take care of the wine?" I fish in the drawer for the corkscrew and then around the counter, on my tiptoes, reach for two wine glasses, which I set on the counter in front of him. His eyes are intently on me, and I self-consciously push the hair that has come out of my ponytail behind my ears.

He smiles — my smile — making me impossibly more flustered still.

"I also have some cranberry juice, if you prefer," I tease, needing the distraction myself.

He rolls his eyes at me, shaking his head, but the corners of his lips stretch anyways. "Wine is fine."

I busy myself in the kitchen, finishing up dinner, and he takes a seat on the stool in front of the counter. He sips at his wine, his eyes on me. I have no choice but to give him something else to do, otherwise I'll end up burning myself, or dinner, or both.

Once he's slicing the bread, I take a sip of my wine and try to relax.

He sets the table then, while I serve the plates, and he makes small chit chat about Jacob Black also being in Munich receiving treatment for his injury. Now that Bayern Munich has qualified for the Champions League Final as well, it will be Jacob's current and future teams playing against each other in the final. Edward says the media is going crazy and that is why he wanted to just stay indoors for the time being. He's still very neutral about the whole Jacob drama, but he's afraid things are starting to get ugly within the rest of the team.

"I think," he continues, folding the napkins on the table. "They won't let him play for the final."

"Who's they?"

"Bayern..."

"Oh..."

"And that would definitely change things for some of the guys." He takes another sip of his wine, his eyes never leave mine. "I personally think his head won't be in that game anyways, so even though it would be a huge loss for us, if that's the case, I'd rather he doesn't play."

"Wow..." I set the plate in front of him, and then mine next to him.

"Okay, enough about football," he says, taking his seat. "This looks delicious, Isabella." He grabs his fork excitedly, I could almost kiss him.

No one's ever been this eager for my cooking before. And it's just Fettuccini Alfredo!

I sit next to him, and eye him carefully as he digs in. He gets a forkful of pasta in his mouth, and after a couple chews, he looks up at me. I realize my fork is still in my hand but my food untouched. His eyes wide, his eyebrows raised.

I search my brain and try to remember if I even tasted the thing... did I forget the salt?

He swallows, and I watch his thumb swipe at the corner of his lips, cleaning the smudge of sauce there. I swallow hard, my throat going instantly dry at the sight of his tongue peeking out to lick his finger.

He lets out a little groan, and as I'm still moronically staring at him, he frowns. "Are you not eating? You're missing out."

"Do you like it?"

"Do I like it?" He seems appalled by my initial question. "Best spaghetti I've ever had!"

"It's fettuccini." I can't help but laugh and shake my head at him, which helps to release some tension.

"Right..." He smiles. "So, tell me about your job," he says, before digging into his plate again. He's either very hungry, or he really liked it, because I only get a few sentences about work in when he's already finished his plate, and is cleaning it dry with bread.

His eyes make it to the stove behind me and then back.

"Would you like some more?" I ask through a giggle.

He nods apologetically, and I smile. As I start to get up to get him seconds, his hand is on my arm. "Let me," he insists and he's off his chair and into the kitchen.

He gets another plate of pasta and has more salad after that, while I still finish my plate and tell him about work.

He leans back on the chair, his hands linking behind his head, and exhales, looking at me. "That was delicious, thank you."

"You might need a nap after that," I joke.

"Nah, I'm good." He smiles at me, and I can't help but reciprocate. We stare at each other for a few seconds until the intensity of his gaze proves to be too much.

"So, what are you doing in Munich?" I blurt out. I've been thinking about it since he called me. Why would he be here all of the sudden without mentioning it to me at all yesterday?

He takes a deep breath, his face turning serious immediately. He sits back up, and with both elbows on the table now, stares right back at me.

"Okay..." he says, I'm not sure if to himself or to me, but then he stalls. He drops his head as his hand scratches his neck.

Oh, this is bad. His shoulders tense as he struggles to tell me this.

"Is everything okay?" An uneasy feeling starts creeping through me. What could this possibly be about?

"I'm meeting a specialist tomorrow," he finally says.

"A specialist?"

"Yes, because Dr. Braun will not clear me to play for the final." There's an edge to his voice... anger... frustration.

And then I know.

"Your hip's gotten worse," I guess, and he nods.

When his eyes meet mine, they scream apologies at me.

"You said everything went fine," I say accusingly, but now that I think about it, of course he would say he was fine.

"I didn't want you to worry," he confirms.

"You should have had that surgery months ago!"

"Isabella, I won't miss the final." His words are as hard as his resolve.

"This is insane!" I feel my eyes fill with tears. He's putting himself through excruciating pain for this one chance at greatness and it terrifies me to my bones.

"Hey, listen… I can do this." He reaches for my hand over the table. "I've made it this far... I can hang on for three more weeks. I will be fine."

"But you don't have to. There will be other chances."

"Will there? I'll be 28 in June, Isabella. This could be my one last chance. When are we going to reach the Champions League Final again?"

"It's possible... I don't know... You're putting everything on the line for this."

"I already need the surgery, and I'll probably be out for months after that." He lets go of my hand, sitting back on the chair. "That's not going to change."

"But it's been getting worse... You were in so much pain yesterday and-"

"Please, Isabella." He rubs his forehead, closing his eyes. He breathes hard a couple times. "I need to do this. I'm not going to give up. I need... I need you... I need you to believe I can do this. I can't... I can't convince you too."

I can see that he won't change his mind. Nothing will keep him from Wembley. And if I try to sway him, it's just going to make everything harder on him.

He needs this. He'll deal with the consequences afterward. And he needs someone to go through this with him. How can I not offer him my hand?

"Okay..." I reach for his hand on the table and run my fingers over his knuckles. "It's okay."

He peeks at me from over his hand as he holds his head up. It takes him a few seconds and a couple of breaths to get rid of the vulnerability on his features. Clearing his throat, he straightens his pose. He's about to shut me out, but I won't let him.

"I'll back you up on this, but..." I say, tightening my grip on his hand. "You have to be honest with me, okay?"

"Okay." He nods in approval.

"Are you scared about tomorrow?" Is my first of many questions.

"Only about not being able to convince him," he answers concisely but sincerely.

I can accept that. "Are you okay right now?"

"I'm not in any pain, if that's what you're asking. I have good days and bad days that are of course made worse with activity. Today definitely counts as a good day. Only a dull discomfort... but it's way in the back of my mind at the moment."

He's very clinical about what he's saying, but it's the most he's ever told me about his injury, so I take it.

"But you're not playing this Saturday, are you?"

"I'm not... but I can't just not play or train until the final. Three weeks is too long. I need to keep my match fitness."

I sigh. He'll still play two more games before the final.

"I'll take it easy on those two, I promise."

"Does that help?" The question slips from me before I'm even sure I can bear the answer.

"Sure it does. The more intensely I work, the worse it is the next day."

I stare at my hands, unable to find any comfort in his words.

Although I'm glad he's now talking to me about it, thinking about how much pain he was in yesterday, and the fact that he is purposely prolonging this to make it to the final, it's a bit overwhelming.

To think he'll do it again, for two more games, and then the final...

I can't even think about it anymore...

Sensing I need a change of subject, he gets up from the table. "I think I should be on dishwashing duty. Given how hard you worked on dinner."

"It wasn't that hard..." I say as he takes my plate from in front of me.

"Still, I insist."

"Okay..." I get up, taking one last sip of my wine. It's started to warm me up already, and I am thankful for the bit of tension it takes away from me. "I soap, you rinse?"

"Deal."

We work side by side in front of the sink; the half in front of me filled with soapy water, his half with the water running as he rinses the dishes. I can't help but look at his forearms as I pass him the skillet, and how his muscles tense when he grabs it.

In my distraction, the glass slips through my fingers into the soapy water, splashing some foam and bubbles on me. I laugh as some of it gets on my face. I try wiping it with my arm since my hands are covered in soap.

"Here," he says, drying his hands with the kitchen towel, and then using his thumb to wipe the foam from my cheek. "Let me..."

My laugh dies in my throat as his thumb lingers on my cheek longer than expected, while his eyes bore into mine.

He slowly leans forward, the distance between us disappearing. I'm paralyzed, my skin burning under his touch. Wetting his lips, he closes his eyes, inching closer to my face.

A breath comes out through his nose as he touches his lips softly, so softly, onto mine.

He pecks my lips a second time, before pulling back. His eyes search mine, testing me, trying to figure me out — asking if this is okay.

It's not.

But I'm not strong enough to resist him any longer.

I'm not even surprised at myself when my hand closes around the neck of his tee, and I pull him down to me. A moan escapes his lips when my lips connect with his. I don't manage the softness he achieved before... I'm on my tiptoes, pressing myself on him as he grabs onto the counter for life.

A whimper erupts from my chest as he slips his tongue into my mouth, and I melt in his hands as he holds me even tighter.

A part of me is screaming to finally allow myself to feel this. He's been here... all of this time. Right... here.

But the rational part of me knows why this is wrong.

As soon as I think of his name, I'm paralyzed.

 _Emmett..._

The fist that is still grabbing onto Edward's shirt is now pushing him away. It only takes a single, soft nudge and his lips are off mine immediately, as if he was waiting for me to stop him.

He drops his forehead on mine, breathing hard. His right hand back on the counter next to me, while the other one moves up to cup my face.

"Do you want me to stop?" he asks, his voice strained, still panting. His heart feels like it will jump out of his chest and into mine.

"No... but I need you to." I try to be as honest as I can.

He pushes off of me completely and takes a few steps away. He now has both hands on the counter and his head drops between his arms.

"We can't do this..." I whisper, a finger on my lips, which still burn for him, while my other hand is at my stomach, trying to convince myself that I'm still in one piece.

He remains quiet. His arms tense with the force he's using to hold himself up.

"Edward, you're his best friend." Just hearing me say the words feels dirty.

How could we do this to Emmett? He does not deserve this.

Finally his head snaps up. "I know that..." he starts, pushing himself off the counter and looking at me. "I've fought this, Isabella. You don't know how hard... or for how long. But I did... I have... But…" He groans, running a hand through his hair. "He knows."

"What do you mean he knows?" My voice is barely a whisper in horror.

"He knows how I feel... about you."

"What?! How... when?" My eyes are filling with tears again, to the thought of Emmett thinking we've betrayed him like this.

Edward walks closer to me, his eyes full with worry.

His hand reaches for my face but it doesn't even meet my skin before he drops it back to his side. "I swear to you, this is not what I came here to do. I... I've carried this world of regret on my shoulders for what I should have done four years ago."

The well-rested, relaxed Edward that arrived on my doorstep about an hour ago is gone. In front of me now is a troubled man, torn... a reflection of how I feel inside.

"If I'm too late… Isabella, I understand... If you're still in love with him, I promise you, I'll stay away..." His hand makes it to his hip again before he adds. "I've had a lot of practice."

"I don't want you to stay away." I can't lie to myself anymore. I feel alive when I'm with Edward. That kiss is the first time I've burned like a woman in months. "But... I love Emmett."

Edward shoulders slump, his head drops as he looks down, and his hand makes it to his chest.

I take a step closer to him, but he shuts his eyes tightly, turning his face away from me. "I'm not in love with him anymore," I say, reaching for his face. "But I don't want to hurt him."

My hands cup his face as I make him face me, but when his eyes peek at me, the pull to kiss him again is so strong, I drop my hands at my sides.

This is wrong... so wrong.

"I don't want to hurt him either," he says after taking a deep breath. "But this… what I felt when you kissed me…. If there's any chance that you feel the same way, then I won't be able to fight it anymore."

"This is crazy, Edward. How would it work? You're his friend, his teammate. You two work together!" Tears threaten to fall from my eyes, and I wipe them before they do.

"Isabella..." He moves closer, but I take a step back.

"I don't think I can do this," I say, refusing to look at him holding one hand up. I feel split in two, one half needing to just wrap my arms around him, the other needing him to go.

He listens... to one half at least.

"I'm so sorry," he whispers, turning around and heading for the couch.

"Edward, wait..."

"I think I should go." He grabs the jacket from the arm of the couch and turns to look at me. He's done a great job composing his face, all trace of hurt and worry gone. But when he weakly smiles, I can see it... that's not my smile.

"You don't have to," I say, even though I don't know how I would survive if he stays.

"I do," he says from the door. "It's okay." He tries for another smile, but it looks worse than the first. He knows it. He knows I know it, so he desists. "Thank you for dinner." Then he disappears behind my door, only leaving behind the lingering weight of his absence.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

A/N: * hides *


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter 19

BPOV

The click of the door closing sends a shiver down my spine. Edward is gone. He is gone — just as the light in his eyes and his smile — gone.

The tears flow freely from my eyes now as devastation consumes me. I can still feel the heat from our kiss on my lips... as well as in other parts of my body, and my heart aches with what I never had and already lost. It doesn't make any sense, yet again, it still hurts.

He's been there all this time...

The day he voiced his concerns about the way Emmett treated me, he was there.

When he drove Emmett to my graduation because otherwise, he would have never made it — it was all him.

Through the hundreds of times Emmett insisted on inviting him out with us when Edward felt clearly uncomfortable being the third wheel.

Since the first day we've met, Edward has always been there.

My brain is flooded with the many encounters that, at the time, seemed friendly but now seem to mean so much more. Has he felt something for me since the first time we met?

I drop on the couch and hug my knees to my chest, trying to hold my pieces together.

I try to think of the time I started to feel different about him. I mean, I've always thought he was attractive, from day one; he's kind of hard to miss in that way. I've always cared for him as a person too. How could I not? He's the best friend anyone could ask for. He's thoughtful, kind, respectful, selfless...

Hours pass and I am unable to come up with an answer. I don't know when I started to feel for him, but the truth of the matter is, I do.

I so do.

I have feelings for Edward Cullen.

I've always have. They've been there, my feelings, quiet and in the background, just like him.

None of that matters, though. We can't be together.

It would hurt too much. It would be too awkward. It's too soon.

We just can't.

I drag my feet to bed and just slump there, still in my clothes. My eyelids are heavy but my brain is going a thousand miles per minute. It's three in the morning when I look at my phone. My fingers pull up his number from the recent calls, and I just stare at his digits for a while, wishing there was something I could say.

He looked so dejected when he left... so... broken.

Deciding I would just make things worse by texting him, I drop the phone and cover my head with the pillow, willing sleep to come and take me.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

I've had three coffees by the time I get to work, hoping it would help me stay alert. It does, but I am miserable, and the fact that I only got four hours of sleep last night has very little to do with it.

I can't stop thinking about him.

I feel dead inside. The guilt of knowing that I hurt him crushes my chest. He opened himself to me, for the first time ever, and I shut him down.

He looked so hurt.

I hurt him.

The worst part is, I can't even do anything about it, because how do I try to make it better without giving in to what I want — him: his arms around me, his face in my hair, his lips on mine…

And then I end up hurting someone else too... no matter what I do.

When my phone rings during my lunch break, my heart speeds up in my chest. The hope that it's Edward calling dies when I look at the screen on my phone and the very close close-up of Emmett's face, mouth open, tongue out — the picture he made his caller ID as soon as I got this phone.

"Hey, Bella!" I can recognize at once that he has me on speaker, and judging by the background noise, he's driving.

"Hey," I say awkwardly, he sounds in very high spirits. Still, I don't know what to expect from this call.

"Just out of training," he says. "I need your advice on something."

"Oh, sure..."

"Sky Sports wants to interview me for tomorrow's game."

"Oh..." Once I know what the call is about, I relax, shifting smoothly into friend-mode.

"They want me to talk about Jacob though." He can't hide the anger in his voice as he mentions his name.

"Hmmm... you don't have to, Em."

"I know... but I want to."

"You do?" I ask in confirmation. He has never been too eager to address the press.

"Yes... but let me tell you, I won't sugar coat anything. I'm going to give it to them straight."

"Emmett-" I start to object, but in pure Emmett fashion, he stops me before I can get a proper word in.

"No. People need to know... what really happened."

"They don't, really."

"Did you know that he's receiving treatment for his injury with the Bayern staff?! He is sooo gone, Bella. I really hope he doesn't play with us anymore. I don't care how good he is." He almost spits his words out.

"He could make a difference in the game, you know?"

"He won't. Oh! And get a hold of this, he is suing some rappers for some song they wrote about him." He laughs humorlessly. "Please, get over yourself, bro!"

I smile. Emmett will get over the whole issue with Jacob. He's hurting still, but once he's come to terms with it, he'll be okay.

I get lost in thought until he speaks again. "So, what do you think?"

"Well, you're entitled to voice your thoughts. Just don't say anything too harsh… or something you might regret..."

"Okay..." He laughs again. "Hey, Bella..." His tone changes, and my stomach flutters with anticipation.

"Yeah?" My hand freezes. The fork I was using to push around the lettuce in my salad slightly trembles over the bowl.

"Do you know who else is in Munich?" he asks casually although the weight of his words is nothing but.

My throat closes. I can't breathe. I can't speak.

"Have you seen him yet?" He digs in deeper. "Actually, wait, don't answer that."

I couldn't answer even if I wanted to.

"Bella?" He sighs.

I close my eyes tightly, forcing myself to snap out of it. "Emmett..." I breathe out. "Nothing's happened," I say before I realize that's a lie.

 _God, I'm already lying to him._

"Bella..." He takes a deep breath. "I... I... listen, just..." This seems as hard for him to say as it is for me to listen. "He's in love with you, you know that, right?"

"Em-"

"I know it's all kinds of weird and fucked up, and I really don't know if I can be this rational every day, but... I love you, Bella. Just don't... ugh." He stalls again. "You've sacrificed so much for me in the past four years... I can't... I want you to be happy, okay?"

"Emmett, I can't-"

"Don't worry about me, okay?" He takes a deep breath, the music and the background noise coming to a stop. "Anything you decide to do will be okay... just do it for you."

I try breathing through my sobs to no avail.

"I need to get ready for the interview, Bella. Everything's okay, I promise. Are you going to be okay?"

"Yeah..." I whisper as soon as I can.

"Okay, I'll talk to you later."

"Bye," I manage to choke and he hangs up.

It takes me a couple minutes to calm down, but I end up throwing away my salad and asking for the rest of my day off.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

EPOV

The hotel bed is cold when I flop on it after returning from Isabella's place. I am nowhere near tired enough for sleep, but with the day I am sure to have tomorrow, I should try my best to get some rest.

If I am to convince both Dr. Braun and the specialist that I can delay this surgery three more weeks, I need to be at the top of my game tomorrow. I can't lie about the X-rays or the MRIs, but I can play down every diagnostic test they might do, show them I can do it.

That was the plan anyway. I will not let anything keep me from that game, but I needed her... And she offered it to me, her support. She said she'd back me up on this... that was, of course, before I ruined everything.

I can't believe I was so careless. I've always been able to keep my composure around her, but tonight... it all felt so intimate, so... right, just perfect. It was exactly what I needed in so many ways, and I ruined it — I moved in too soon. She was evidently not ready, and frankly I don't know if she ever will be.

There's too much history between them, and it would obviously hurt too much. I should have given her more time to get over Emmett.

How could I be so selfish?!

She kissed me back though... she did.

My hands cover my face as I reminisce our moment.

I've thought about kissing her, probably more than I'd ever be comfortable admitting, but never in my wildest dreams did I imagine her taking the initiative that way. I was working so hard, trying so hard, to be gentle, to rein myself in, but when she pulled me to her, she tore me in two.

I can't say I didn't expect her to stop me. I knew it was coming; it still didn't make it any easier to bear.

I turn in my bed with a groan, pulling my phone from my pocket and staring at the black screen.

I don't know how I will be able to act around her anymore — to pretend that she doesn't completely own me, that I won't hurt from not having her.

The hours pass and the phone becomes heavier in my hand, dense with the possibility of talking to her — of clearing things up — or maybe just forgetting the whole thing happened.

I will never forget that kiss, though. I couldn't even if I wanted to.

So I wait — even when I know it's completely unreasonable that she'd be up this late, or that if she was, she'd text me — It doesn't matter, I still wait.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

My room's been bright with the sunshine coming through the window for a couple of hours now, when my phone vibrates with a text from Dr. Braun asking me to be ready in an hour. I'm flat on my bed, phone in hand, still in last night's clothes.

Isabella never called.

Most of the talk during my appointment goes on between Dr. Braun and the surgeon, Dr. Albach. They look at my scans and x-rays from the past few months, and Braun recounts the evolution of my injury.

I sit quietly on the examining table, mentally preparing myself for what is sure to come — the physical tests. I've done them all before, I know when it's supposed to hurt, and it helps me to prepare.

However, when I'm lying on that table and he's twisting my leg up and down while pressing here and there, it fucking hurts. I hold it in as much as I can, trying to breathe through it, but I am still quite disappointed at myself when he's done.

I wish Isabella had been here.

"Edward," Albach starts as I sit up. "I'll admit, your range of motion is impressive for the amount of damage the scan shows... Still, I am very sorry to tell you, you shouldn't be playing like this."

"We already knew that, Doc." My tone comes out rough in annoyance. I'm usually never this rude, and I am very sorry, but I am exhausted. The tests he performed have left me in pain, pain I can't show… pain I refuse to show — the worst kind of pain. Well, second worst, actually. "I know I shouldn't play. The question is can I, and you both know I can."

"You need to fully grasp the risks of the choice you're making," Braun starts.

"I can have you ready for that surgery tomorrow," Albach chips in.

"No-" I try, but he keeps going.

"Best case scenario, everything goes well, and you are out for about three months. That puts you back in training beginning of the next season."

I shake my head, and Braun speaks up. "The longer you continue to play like this, the more damage will be done, and the longer rehab will take."

"We're talking you possibly missing the whole first half of next season," Albach adds.

At this my eyes peek up and shift from Braun to Albach and back.

When I think about being out that long... God, I need to get out of here before they talk me out of the final.

I shake my head in denial and start buttoning my shirt.

Braun leaves the room, and Dr. Albach comes closer to me and puts a hand on my shoulder. "You've done everything you could, Edward, but delaying this surgery any further is very risky. You've proven to us that you can do it, but it won't come without severe consequences."

I block his words out.

 _No, no, no, no._

Braun comes back in, cell phone in hand. "Coach Banner," he announces, handing me the phone.

I can't have Coach trying to convince me too! If he asks me not to play, how do I reason with him? He wouldn't ask me though, would he?

"Coach-" I begin, but he cuts me off.

"Cullen, I can't ask you to do this," is what he says.

I can sense it in his tone, he's worried about me. But he knows... he knows what this means to me.

I am nowhere near the "star" of the team, nor do I want to be, but my job on the right flank is important, and we have no one that can cover that position on the bench, not against Franck Ribéry.

How can I leave them now when we are so close?

"Coach, you don't have to."

If I have this surgery now, miss the final, and they don't make it. How can I live with that?

I can't, I'm taking the risk. I have to.

I'll deal with the consequences the best I can afterward.

"Are you sure?" Coach asks.

"Positive," I say at once.

"Okay, put Braun back on."

I hand the phone back to Braun with a smug, I-told-you-so nod. Not much is said after that.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

There is at least an hour before I have to leave for my flight when I make it back to my hotel room. I flop on the bed, completely spent, as my body begs me for at least a few minutes of rest. As soon as I close my eyes, though, my phone rings.

The screen reveals Isabella's name.

I groan, burying the phone under one of the pillows and covering my face with the other one.

I can't do this right now. I'm not strong enough to face her, to tell her I'm fine, to say goodbye to her. I've already had to pretend for the doctors today. There's no way I have anything left in me to pretend for her too.

 _Please, please, please..._

When the ringing stops, I exhale in relief, only to groan again as the ringing recommences.

"Hello?"

"I need to talk to you before you leave," she says, straight to the point.

"Isabella, it's fine. Please, forget it happened."

"I'm coming over," she states decidedly. It doesn't sound like she'll take no for an answer.

"I'm leaving soon." I still try.

"I don't care. I'm almost there, okay?" She sounds a bit out of breath, is she running all the way over here?

"Isabella-"

"I'm almost there, Edward, please?" her tone is desperate and it undoes me completely.

I sigh in defeat; I'm being an asshole to her when this mess is nothing but my fault.

"Just wait for me, okay? Five minutes," she pleads.

"Okay," I say and she hangs up after a quick thank you.

I sit up on the edge of the bed, my hands on my face. I have no idea what Isabella is on her way over here to say or do. All I know is that I need to get myself together to say goodbye to her for good.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~


	20. Chapter 20

Chapter 20

I speed up through the last block on my way to Edward's hotel. He never said what time he was leaving but I need to talk to him before he goes... to say what? I don't know yet, but I just need to see him.

I take the stairs, two at a time, and I need a minute to catch my breath once I'm at his door.

I knock on the door softly. I'm nervous, excited, scared — I'm a lot of things.

He opens the door in his trousers and a light blue button up that has the neck unbuttoned and the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He's not wearing any shoes.

"Isabella," he nods, but there's no smile for me. At least he called me by my full name, as he usually does, and not with a mere inconsequential hello, as he did when he answered the phone a while ago.

He leans on the doorframe with one hand, as if he needs the support. I open my mouth only to clasp it back closed. I have no idea what to say!

He seems to be struggling for words too, as he scratches the back of his neck with his free hand and looks down.

Then I realize I really don't have to say anything, so I just let myself go and show him what I came here for.

He takes a sharp intake of breath when my lips collapse with his. My hands are around his neck pulling him to me. His lips are unresponsive against mine at first; his hands just drop at his sides. Soon after, he groans softly against my lips, and with a hand in my lower back, he pulls me to him while the other one closes the door behind us.

His hand cradles the back of my head, under my ponytail, as he presses me against the door. When he breaks the kiss for air and drops his forehead on mine, I am thankful he's holding me up, if he wasn't, I would be a puddle on the floor.

"I..." he starts, but the words die in his mouth. His hands release me as he plants them on the door, flanking my shoulders as he looks down. He exhales roughly, and it sounds like he whispers something that I don't quite catch.

My hands make it to his hair, slowly searching for his face and pulling him up. His eyes are tightly closed as he avoids looking at me. "What is it?"

When he opens his eyes, they flick back and forth between mine, scrutinizing, trying to figure me out.

My hands cup his face as he breathes hard into the cage he has me in between his arms. "Are you okay?"

His lips stretch minutely, almost in a smile. "I'm better than okay..." he says. "It's just... I..." he stalls again and groans, looking down.

"What?" My hands pull on his face again, but I drop them down as he straightens up and pulls away altogether.

"I was preparing to say goodbye to you... to let you go." He paces in front of me until he turns to face me. "I thought I ruined everything... and yet you come here — you're here — and you kiss me... like that." In two strides, he's back right up in front up me and takes my face in his hand. "What did that kiss mean, Isabella?"

"I don't know what it means yet..." I say honestly. "But I'm here... I'm here because I want to be with you."

"As a friend?" he asks, his eyebrows scrunching in the middle.

I smile, reaching for his face. "Was that a friendly kiss, Edward?"

He laughs through his nose, looking down again, but when he peeks back up, the lines that stretch on his face as he smiles tell me he's okay... that we're okay.

His hands hold my face as his lips touch mine again, so softly. He pecks my lips a couple times before he pulls back again. His thumbs brush under my eyes, catching a few tears.

"Are you okay?" he asks.

A nod at him is all I can manage at the moment. He grabs my hand and walks us to the half a kitchenette in his hotel suite, where there are two stools, and I sit on one as he heads for the mini fridge.

When he sets two cranberry juice bottles on the counter, I can't keep the chuckles from my mouth. He shakes his head, opening one of the bottles for me, and pushing it my way. His eyes remain on me as he tips his bottle and I sip at mine, my insides still tingling from our kiss.

"Better?" He puts the bottle down and holds himself up with both hands on the counter.

"Yeah..." I exhale, fixing my hair behind my ears and wondering how much of a mess I look like. "Rough night, last night..."

"Yeah..." He looks down between his arms. "I had no night," he says in almost a whisper.

"I'm really sorry for how I reacted."

I know he got no sleep — I can tell by his eyes, their red tint and the shadows beneath them. I hate that he wasn't able to rest, and I hate that it was because of me.

"Please, you have nothing to apologize for. This has been all my doing. Or rather lack of doing…"

"What do you mean?"

"I should have acted on this before… four years ago, when I had the chance."

"You still have a chance."

"I do?"

"Yes," I smile at him wholeheartedly.

He smiles right back at me, even blushing a little. His eyebrows scrunch then, and he takes a deep breath. "I will talk to Emmett"

My smile falters, but he continues. "He knows how I feel, but until now, I've always said I wouldn't act on it. But if that's changing… if that's going to change. I will talk to him. I won't hide this from him. We can't-"

"We won't."

"Okay." He nods at me, his eyes intensely on mine.

I can see the wheels turning, just as mine, thinking about how we could possibly approach this. In a desperate need for a change of subject, I ask, "How did your appointment go?"

He stretches his pose, avoiding my eyes. "It went fine," he shrugs, "I can play."

I know that look. It's the 'I don't want to talk about it' look. They're going to let him play, but his situation hasn't improved, and it won't, until he has his surgery.

I remember what he asked of me though, what he needs. Going through it will be hard enough without him trying to convince people he can do this.

I know he can.

I know he will.

"Okay," I offer him with a smile. "That's good news then."

When his eyes meet mine, they show relief, gratitude. Of course I will worry about him, but I will keep that to myself. If he can be strong for his team, I can be strong for him.

He makes his way around the kitchen island, and tentatively wraps one arm around me, holding me close to his chest.

"Thank you." The words come in a whisper as he kisses my forehead.

He pulls away, keeping an arm around me, and I look up to him. His fingers brush some of my hair back behind my ears and a smile appears on his face. "I wanted to do that since you appeared at my door."

"I look like a mess, don't I?'

He laughs through his nose. "Mess would be the last word I'd use to describe you right now."

Before I can reply, his cell phone rings and he groans. "It's Braun," he says, looking at the screen before silencing the phone with a sigh.

"You have to go." My voice deflates at the thought of finally having him and having to let him go just as quickly.

"I wish I didn't have to... or that you could come with me."

Yeah, well... there's a thought. As rational as Emmett is trying to be about this, I can't even imagine what would happen if I show up at a game with Edward.

The sudden tension emanating from Edward tells me his mind has wandered to the same place.

He could stay here, though... this isn't Dortmund.

"You're not playing, right? Do you have to go?"

He smiles, relaxing a bit.

"I do... I'm supposed to attend the game even if I'm not playing, and I also have a meeting with Coach tomorrow morning."

"So busy..." I say, my finger running over his arm.

"I could come back tomorrow night after the game though..." he says all of the sudden, surprising me, and I guess himself as well. "I only have to be back at training on Monday."

"You'd fly?" My eyes widen as I stare up at him, giddy with the possibility of seeing him again so soon.

"Of course! If I only get one day with you, I'm not going to spend five hours driving here and then back." His hand makes it to my face as he runs the back of his fingers over my cheek. "Not unless you're in the car with me."

"You'd do that?"

"It's a one hour flight, Isabella." He shrugs. "If you're not busy, and you'd want me to, I'll be on the first flight out of Dortmund after the game."

I can feel the smile stretching on my face. "I'd love you to."

He matches my grin, pulling me closer again.

With the promise of seeing each other the next day, Edward puts me in a cab back to my apartment, as he gets ready to fly back to Dortmund.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~


	21. Chapter 21

Chapter 21

EPOV

The flight back to Dortmund goes by in a heartbeat, and I wish I could say it was because I slept most of the time. It's not. I couldn't sleep at all. My mind wouldn't stop replaying the events of the past few hours. It's been a pretty exhausting couple of days. Only two days ago, we advanced to the Champions League final, and so much has happened in between.

When Isabella showed up at my hotel room earlier today, I had managed to muster at least some amount of strength to face her — say goodbye, let her go — without falling apart in front of her. Or at least that was the plan.

Her kiss took me by complete surprise. At first, I had my doubts. The honesty in her eyes screamed at me to hold her, to kiss her, and to never let her go, yet I thought she was going to ask me to do the exact opposite. I would have had to deny her eyes. She didn't ask me to leave her alone though; she kissed me instead.

No way to know how it will go, and it will probably not be easy — being under everyone's scrutiny — but, I won't let anything jeopardize this. As long as she wants me, I'm there. I will talk to Emmett, as soon as possible. Perhaps even tomorrow, after a good night rest and with a clear head. Maybe even before I fly back to Munich to see her again. He knows already, he understands, but I won't hide anything from him.

When I finally get home, I'm about to pass out. I get rid of my clothes and throw on some sweats. It's still early to go to bed, but I have a couple days' worth of sleep to catch up on.

I get my phone, to text Isabella and let her know I'm home, when it starts ringing in my hand.

And it's not her.

"Emmett?"

"Hey, are you back?"

"Uh... yeah but..."

"Ah, yes, just saw your car. I'm coming up," he says quickly, before hanging up.

Dammit.

I only have a few seconds before he comes barging in through that door, so I type in quickly. "I'm home. Something came up. I'll call you in a bit." and send to Isabella.

With a sigh, I set the phone down on the counter and take a few breaths. I don't think I can talk to Emmett about Isabella right now. I need a clear head, a good rest, to do this right. How can I discuss the most difficult thing I'd ever tell my best friend with a half-working brain?

"I am never giving interviews for Sky again... ever!" He slams the door as he storms in. He heads for the fridge first, as usual. "I hadn't even left the place and they had already twisted my words into a headline."

He's bent into the fridge, when he peeks from the top of the fridge door, a half opened string cheese packet hanging from his lips. "Where the fuck is your food?"

"I think there are some grapes in the back."

"You and your string cheese, man." He shuts the fridge closed with his leg, a bag of grapes in one hand, a few string cheese packets in the other.

I shrug at him, making my way to one of the stools as he sits across from me.

"I had to text Jacob," he continues, peeling more cheese packets and pushing the bag of grapes in my direction. "Telling him what I had said, which he knows already, and the fucking kid goes and tells the press I had apologized to him!"

"Hmph..." I mumble while I play with the grape between my fingers. I don't even think I'm hungry. I just want to go to sleep.

"I have nothing to apologize for!"

I stare at the grape between my fingers, slightly dozing off.

Not even a second later, a grape bounces off my forehead. I blink myself awake and look up.

"What's up with you?" he asks.

"Nothing..." I shrug, putting a grape in my mouth after all.

"What did Braun say? Did they clear you?"

I nod at him, as I chew another one, hoping it helps me stay awake longer.

"Excellent!" he says with a smile, a genuine one, banging his fist on the counter.

He's clearly happy for me, and the fact I can play. He sits there, smiling at me, being a good friend, and I have to tell him I kissed his girl. What a shitty friend…

"You know who's not going to be cleared?"

Of course, he brings it back to Jacob Black. "That's what I hear..."

"I talked to Seth today too. He still thinks Jacob will play the final with us. Pfffft... He has no idea how they do business at Bayern. Anyone who thinks Jacob doesn't have only his own interest at heart, is a complete fool."

"Come on..." I shake my head. "Seth is just trying to have his friend's back."

"I just don't want him to be disappointed when he gets backstabbed too."

"Yeah, well..." I shrug, scratching my neck. I am just over the drama.

"I swear... the sooner that kid leaves, the better." Emmett gets up from the stool, grabbing the grapes and the empty cheese wrappers, putting the former back in the fridge and the latter in the trash. "Let me just show you how good we can play without him." He walks into the living room, turning on the PS4.

"You can use your beloved Celtic." He laughs, throwing a controller at me, while dropping on the couch.

"Not tonight, Emmett." My voice is void of emotion as I run a hand down my face.

"Aw, come on. Just one game."

"It's never just one, and I'm tired."

"What the fuck, Cullen? It's only 7 pm and you already look like a zombie!"

I don't want to get into explaining why I'm so tired, and that is definitely the direction this conversation would go. Maybe if he burns some steam playing FIFA, he'll leave.

I flop on the couch as he proceeds to take Jacob off the team in the game. "Buh-bye!" he sings, pressing the buttons. He can be such a kid sometimes.

A few games later, I'm struggling to keep my eyes open. I've also received the ass wiping of a lifetime — to much of Emmett's amusement — but considering the day I've had, I think I've done okay.

"I'm done..." I say, turning my controller off and sinking deeper into the couch with a deep breath.

"All right," Emmett gets up from the couch, and I follow after him.

Just when I think I might get away with not talking to Emmett tonight, my cellphone starts buzzing, vibrating next to Emmett's keys. He grabs the phone and chucks it my way. I catch it on my stomach with my hand.

Without thinking, I send the call straight to voicemail and try to compose my face before I look at Emmett.

"Aren't you going to answer that?" He sends me a suspicious glance.

I shake my head, setting the phone on the counter again. An obvious mistake, since the thing starts buzzing again.

Fuck my life.

"It's Bella, isn't it?" he asks from the door, his face falling slightly in realization. "Are you two...?"

"Emmett," I try to come up with something. It appears I won't be well rested for this, but I still have to do it.

He turns around to leave, one hand on the knob, but then exhales and turns back into the apartment. He walks into the kitchen and starts rummaging through the cabinets.

"I was going to tell you," I say, from the counter, silencing the phone again. I need to let her know I'm okay before she worries, but how do I talk to her with Emmett here? I can't.

Every possible text I think to send to her ends up getting her more worried, so I lie instead, kinda, even though I hate it. At least this way, she'll get some rest.

"The guys came over. Talk to you tomorrow?" I type quickly, and put the phone back down.

"What kind of self-respecting Irish man has no booze in his house?!" Emmett crouches down to the cabinets under the sink.

"I'm only like 4th generation Irish…"

"Ah, bingo!" He takes the bottle of Bushmills he himself got me as a joke for St. Patrick's day last year. He sets it on the counter, searching for two small glasses. He pours whiskey messily in the two glasses, before pushing one my way.

I open my mouth to refuse, but he cuts me off. "Don't even try..." he says. "We're doing this."

"We have a game tomorrow."

"You aren't even playing, so drink up." He tips his shot back, swallowing quickly with a grunt.

I stare at the shot glass in my hand. This will sting. I swallow it quickly too, before facing Emmett.

"So, you and Bella, huh?" He wipes his mouth with his hand. His words burn stronger than the liquid in my throat. "Is it me? Is she holding back because of me?"

"Well, there's a lot to consider and-"

"Because I talked to her, Cullen. I did. I told her to do whatever made her happy. And I meant it."

He talked to her, just as he did for me. He gave us both the green light, because he knew we would have fought it otherwise.

He pours two more glasses, pushes one my way again.

"Emmett, slow down. I really want us to talk about it, but not like this."

His eyes widen as he stares at me. "You're serious about her?"

"Of course I am!"

"Of course you are," he repeats, tipping his glass. "You're serious about everything."

"You think I'd risk hurting you — or her — if I wasn't?"

"You're hurting me by not taking your shot, Edward," he says mockingly, rolling his eyes.

He pours more liquid into his glass, pointing at my still full glass.

"Stop..." I say, trying to muster some authority.

"You stop," he refuses altogether. "You're one behind, bro."

"Drinking isn't going to make this easier."

"I respectfully disagree." He quirks an eyebrow, waving at the glass again.

I turn the glass with my fingers, not looking forward to it.

"You drink. I'll tell you what would make this easier for me," he offers.

I grab the glass and as I tip it, he adds. "You could start by not fucking my ex."

Between his words and the liquid burning down my throat, I choke. I have to get up from the stool and cough a couple times before I can breathe again. That's when I realize he's doubled over laughing.

"You're so predictable, Cullen," he chuckles as I glare at him, my eyes tearing up as I gasp for air.

"I don't think that was funny." My voice is raw, my throat still burns.

"It wasn't. I'm sorry. I mean, what I said wasn't funny... you choking was though."

I grab my head in my hands, running my fingers through my hair. I can't believe he's joking about this... about her.

"Hey... it's fine." Emmett's tone softens. "I said I'd be okay with it, didn't I?"

When I face him he's pouring more whiskey into the glasses, a silly smirk on his face.

"Here," he says, pushing the glass back my way. "Wash it down." He smiles, tipping his glass back, and then groans, shaking his head after he swallows.

"That's not how it works," I add hoarsely.

"Well, you don't have any beer."

I stare at the glass again, the previous two shots still burning in my stomach. I can't remember eating anything after Isabella's dinner. Despite this clearly not being a good idea, I shut my eyes tightly, softly groaning as I down the liquid. I shake my head disapprovingly at Emmett's grinning face as I open my eyes.

When his hands are around the bottle again, I take my glass and get it away from him.

I make it to the fridge and search for some food myself, disappointed when all I find is the half full bag of grapes. I'm starving though, so I start popping them in my mouth, two at a time. I guess I underestimated how hungry I really was.

"Did you know..." Emmett says as he jumps on the counter, sitting next to the fridge, bottle and glass still in his hands. "I got Bella a puppy to try to make her stay with me..."

I stare at him blankly, my head swimming, I don't know if from exhaustion or the liquor, but I can't come up with words. This is happening. We're talking about Isabella — Emmett and I.

"It was a douche move, I can see that now." He pours himself another shot before he looks up at me again. "Talk about boyfriend material! I can't even remember the creature's name!"

"Wrinkles?" The name just falls from my lips without me even having to really think about it.

"See? You pay attention to shit!" He brings the bottle to his lips and chugs from it.

I close the fridge door, even though what I'd like to do is stick my head in it. My ears are burning and so is the back of my neck. Between the conversation and the alcohol in my system, it must have gotten at least ten degrees hotter in here.

"I don't think I can do this right now," I say as I walk to the window.

I do want to talk about Isabella, but not about her and Emmett, and definitely not have him compare himself to me when it comes to her.

I open the windows of my living room as far as they go, sticking my head out a bit and breathing deeply.

"Listen..." He's followed me and is now standing next to me. "Bella is great, and she deserves to be happy." He clasps a hand on my shoulder before he adds. "And so do you."

"All I want is for her to be happy," I manage to say. "That's all I've ever wanted."

"Then, end of discussion." He sets an arm around my shoulder and pulls me from the window back into the living room. "I demand a rematch." he steers us to the TV.

"But you won..."

"I'd like to beat you again." Letting go of my shoulder, he flops on the couch, turning on the console and smiling challengingly at me.

A few shots later, enough FIFA games to fry our brains, and after a juggling battle that ends up with a broken lamp, Emmett finally passes out on the carpet mumbling incoherently about Isabella. The sun's about to come up though, and I have a meeting with Coach in a couple hours. So rather than giving in to sleep and passing out next to him, I choose to shower and make some coffee instead.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

As soon as Coach sees me, his face shows concern. I guess the sunglasses don't completely hide the fact that I feel like shit. My head is pounding, my stomach revolts at every sight, smell or even thought of food, and I don't think I've ever been thirstier than I am right now.

It takes me a while to convince him that my shattered state has very little to do with my injury. My hip isn't actually hurting (that much), and it has remained numb after the painkillers I took earlier.

I tell him I'm nervous, anxious about the final, and that Emmett and I stayed up late burning off some steam. That would probably get Emmett out of the game today (which he would have anyways after Coach sees him at practice). He'll be pissed at first, but he'll thank me later.

After I kindly refuse breakfast, Coach and I talk about my injury and how much he feels comfortable letting me do in the next two games, while I down two energy drinks in a row. The sugar and caffeine rush help me get through the few hours of watching my teammates train and prepare for the game.

Emmett doesn't disappoint, as he throws up after the first jog. Coach doesn't dismiss him though, he makes him finish the training. By the time Coach's done with him, Emmett will be begging not to play today.

The game itself goes by quickly. Even though both teams have fielded most of their bench players, a game between us and Bayern is never dull. After a few controversial calls and a sending off, it ends in a 1-1 draw.

By the time I reach the airport, I am running on fumes and everything slows down around me. My eyes flutter closed a couple times even though I sit in the most uncomfortable position possible.

I'm going to see her today.

We have tonight and all day tomorrow together.

Me and Isabella...

I can sleep when I'm dead.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~


	22. Chapter 22

Chapter 22

My heart is jamming in my chest even though I've been sitting on my couch for the past forty-five minutes. After watching the game and getting ready, I couldn't really focus on anything else but the fact that Edward is coming to spend the rest of the weekend with me.

Edward and me.

Is this our first date?

Does it even count?

It seems I'm not the only one about to explode from eagerness since the faintest knocking on the door sends Wrinkles in a sprint with his tail flailing everywhere.

I take a couple breaths to futilely calm myself down before I open the door.

 _He is here._

Edward stands at my door, leaning onto the doorframe with one hand. When he sees me, he tries to straighten his pose, with a hand reaching for his hip. He smiles faintly at me, his eyes almost in slits.

"Isabella..." He breathes out. "Hi." A strand of hair is falling out of place, onto his forehead.

"Hey..." I take one step closer to him, as worry fills me. He looks like he's about to collapse.

Before I can ask if he's okay, he wraps his arms around me. His entire body envelops mine, as he buries his face in my neck.

"I made it," he whispers into my skin, sending a shiver down my spine.

He exhales loudly, falling heavily into me, to the point I need to take a step back so we both don't topple over.

"Edward?!" With a soft groan, he perks up. His eyes are closed when my hands cup his face. "Are you okay?"

He smiles again, barely, his eyes peeking at me under heavy lids. "I am now."

It doesn't take a genius to realize this is a shattered man in front of me. I don't know what went on last night after he texted me to say the guys had shown up at his place. It doesn't seem like he got any sleep though, and I already know he had gotten no sleep on Thursday night when he was here.

My stomach drops, that's two nights in a row without sleep. Whatever plan I had for our night fades from my head, and my main priority becomes getting him some sleep. I close a hand around his and pull him inside, closing the door and taking his bag from his shoulder.

He mumbles something about a room in a hotel, and I circle an arm around his waist when he takes the first unsteady step. I don't think there's much I could do if he falls over, but at least I try to offer him some support as we make our way to the couch.

I briefly consider taking him to my bed instead, but my couch is closer and big enough, so it would do.

When he flops on the couch, I sigh, wondering how the hell he made it here in one piece.

I kneel next to him, my fingers pushing the loose strand of hair off his forehead. When I do, he sits up, shaking his head and looking around disconcertedly.

"Hey," I reach for his hand over his thigh and he turns to look at me.

He smiles, slowly sinking back into the cushions. "I want to take you out for dinner," he says. "I can't cook." He chuckles.

I smile, because I can't help it, but with a sigh, I get up from the couch.

"Hey... where are you going?" he complains.

" _We_ are not going anywhere," I say as I take his shoes off and bring his feet up on the longer part of the couch, so that he's the closest to lying down as I can get him.

He surprisingly does not complain about that. I'm actually not even sure if he notices it. "What are we doing then?" he asks.

"Nothing..." When I turn to look at him, his eyes have closed again. " _You_ are sleeping."

I sit back next to him and he tries to open his eyes. "I just need some coffee," he insists — so stubborn. "I'm fine."

"Stop," I say softly, reaching for him as he sets his head on my chest. "Sleep now."

He breathes out heavily as he locks his arms around my waist.

"Thank you," he whispers as I kiss his forehead.

I keep one arm around him and run my fingers in his hair until his breathing slows. He mumbles a few things here and there until I am convinced he is deeply asleep, or at least his soft snoring seems to indicate so.

The poor thing — he must beyond exhausted.

It's barely 8 at night, and he's out cold when I slide him over so he can rest more comfortably. I find him a pillow and a blanket and he barely moves as I lift his head. When I set him down, he turns on his side, sticking an arm under his pillow.

His lips part as he whispers another thank you.

One last look at him, and I decide he'll be okay, so I make it to my room.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

A little after nine in the morning, I decide to start making some food. Edward has not moved from the couch, but I am sure he'll wake up hungry... if/when he wakes up. At least I know he is breathing — I checked.

I still try to be quiet in the kitchen, even though he's been out for over 13 hours — I don't want to be the one who wakes him up. I'm mixing the French toast batter when I notice his legs twitch. He stretches his body before he rolls over, then with a jolt, he sits.

His head turns from side to side, taking in his surroundings, and I smile.

With only one eye open, his face turns to me.

"Hey," I say, widening my smile.

He still seems confused. "Isabella..." His voice sounds raw and he clears his throat. His eyes are puffy from sleep and his hair is falling on his forehead.

He's adorable.

"I..." He stalls, scratching his neck, and clears his throat again. "I..."

"The bathroom is all yours," I add nonchalantly. I won't let him apologize for last night. He won't make this awkward. He is well rested now, which is all that matters, and we still have some time to spend together.

He runs a hand down his face and over his hair, before he looks down at his bag, which I left next to the couch. I can see the wheels starting to turn in his head. I don't know if he remembers what happened last night, but at least, he's figuring it out.

He seems a bit embarrassed and avoiding as he gets up from the couch. His back is to me as he stretches, and I smile when I see him methodically fold the blanket and setting it on top of the pillow, neatly arranging them on the corner of the couch.

"I'll be just a moment," he says when he faces me.

"I'm in no rush," I give him with a smile. His lips stretch in a tiny, shy grin as well, before he heads for the bathroom.

The man that comes out of the bathroom thirty minutes later is a different one. He's showered and shaved, even done his hair. There's a refreshing smile on his face, and his eyes crinkle as they meet mine from across the room.

He walks around the countertop and into the kitchen, the smile never leaves his face and his eyes never leave mine. I have to remind myself of the unturned slices of toast and my idiotic hand hovering over them.

"You really don't have to do any of this," he says as I flip the toasts.

"Are you not hungry?" I look up at him. As I stand barefoot and in my tiny kitchen, he seems a little bit taller — bigger. He smells so good too, like man and clean and soap.

"I'm starving," he says, getting my attention back to his lips.

"Then shush!" I joke, trying to relieve some of the tension.

His chuckle is sudden and honest, and it warms me up inside. It quickly dies down, though, as he sobers up and stares back at me. "Shush?" The light in his eyes tell me, however, he's not serious at all. "That's very rude."

"Yeah?" I take the French toast off the pan and turn the stove off.

"Definitely. Not as rude as me crashing uninvited on your couch. But still rude."

I sigh, turning to face him. "You needed that."

"I know..." His expression changes again as he leans over on the countertop, moving closer to me. "I did, and I'm sorry I wasted most of our time together sleeping, but thank you," he says wholeheartedly.

His hand reaches for my face while he wets his lips, slowly inching closer. His fingers close behind my neck and he brings our lips together.

It's a soft peck, but it still weakens my knees. He exhales through his nose as he pulls himself away. I look down, needing some air myself, and I notice how tightly he's gripping the counter. I always get this feeling with him, like he's restraining himself. I know it will take time, but I can't wait until he just lets go.

With a sigh, I collect myself to face him. "Breakfast is getting cold."

He smiles — my smile — and steps back, giving me some room.

I serve two dishes and he quietly follows until we're both sitting at the table.

We eat almost in complete silence — well I eat, he inhales his food — but it's somehow not awkward. A few glances here and there followed by smiles is all it takes us to get through breakfast.

After having seconds, a banana, and an apple, he seems to finally be satiated and rests back on the chair. "What would you be doing today if I wasn't here?"

"Well, being a Sunday... probably something glamorous like laundry."

He laughs. "That's it?"

"Maybe take Wrinkles to the park?" At the mention of his name, Wrinkles gets off from the couch and sprints in my direction.

"I see..."

"What about you?"

"A Sunday after a game? I'd most likely be resting."

"You would have stayed up all night."

"Probably," he says, semi-apologetically, but with a shrug.

I shake my head at him, considering briefly whether to bring this up or not. However, there is one issue I'm already purposely not worrying about — him playing through a hip injury — I can't not worry about this too. "I think you have a sleeping disorder."

"What?" He chuckles. "I don't."

"I'm serious."

"So am I. Not sleeping after a game is normal, Isabella. That amount of adrenaline does not just disappear."

"What about not sleeping two days in a row? Is that normal? Besides, you did not even play yesterday."

"Friday night was... a special occasion." He looks down, scratching his neck.

"Why? What happened?" I probe.

"Emmett happened," he says, before peeking up at me.

"Oh..."

"Yeah..."

"Is he... I mean..." I stall, my brain spinning with the possibilities of what went on between them after he left on Friday.

"He's okay." Edward's face is composed. His expression, calmed. "He was just very... chatty."

"Did you stay up all night together?"

He nods.

"Talking?"

"Amongst other things... yes." He looks guilty, I almost want to ask what else went on.

It suddenly hits me, the immensity of everything. It's real — this thing between Edward and I — whatever it is, it's real.

People will find out. Sooner or later, Emmett will see us together. It will happen. It's going to happen.

Not being with Edward, though... it's not an option anymore.

"God, Edward, what are we going to do?" I drop my face into my hands with a sigh.

"Hey..." He scoots his chair closer to mine and places a hand over my hair. "It's going to be fine."

"How?" I say into my hands.

"I've always kept my private life private, Isabella." He peels my fingers from my face. "I intend to keep it that way."

"I know, but this is different." When my eyes find him, the fervor in his eyes grounds me.

"I won't let anybody hurt this." He grabs my hand in his, intertwining our fingers. "I was honest with Emmett because I don't want to hide anything from him, but other than that, it's nobody else's business."

He's right — It's not, but that doesn't mean they won't notice, won't ask questions, won't have opinions. "So we hide?"

"We keep to ourselves," he states simply, his voice commanding determination.

"With everyone there? That's going to be nearly impossible!"

"Okay, so we don't have to be there," he adds in a calmed tone. "I can come here after our game next weekend," he offers instead.

His eyes show me nothing, no hesitation, no doubt. He'd do it. He'd fly here next weekend again so we could see each other.

"I can't do that to you." I sigh. "Look how you arrived last night. You were exhausted, Edward."

"Next weekend it's not going to be like that." He immediately turns into his avoiding self because he knows that's not true.

"Oh really? Are you not playing on Saturday?" I counter.

He takes a deep breath and scratches his forehead. Of course he's playing, and we both know what that means. He will be in pain after the game, and in no condition to fly.

When he looks back up at me, a little excited grin appears on his face. "You want to come to Wolfsburg, then?"

I had forgotten that the next game is away in Wolfsburg. I can see it in his eyes — the excitement of having me go there for _him_. I know what a pain it is to travel, particularly for him, and especially after a game.

"With everyone there, Edward? Do you think that's such a good idea? Isn't it too soon?"

He sees I'm second-guessing my decision so he loses his grin. "I can come here. It's really no big deal."

I hate the dejected look on his face. I never want to be responsible for that look, ever again.

The hell with everyone! I'm doing this. "I already wanted you to come here the weekend after, anyway." I tease, with a finger running over the pam of his hand.

"You did?" The light in his eyes tells me he's back.

I nod, matching his grin. "If you can manage to take it easy during that game," I pause, side-eyeing him a bit, and getting up from my chair to collect the plates. "If you're able to fly here that weekend... I have a work event on Saturday night. I was wondering if you'd like to come with me."

"I'd love to," he says without hesitation.

"That'd be flying here three weekends in a row." I turn to look at him.

"I don't mind." His hands get a hold of my hips and he pulls me between his legs. "I really don't."

I won't put him through that. I won't make him fly to Munich three weekends in a row. I don't want to not see him either, so there's really no choice.

"I'll go to Wolfsburg. I can watch the game... Hang out with the girls..." I say casually, slightly leaning into his thigh. His fingers close, fisting the fabric of my sweatpants.

"The girls? What about me?"

"Maybe... if I find some time," I add teasingly, smiling at him. "Then you come here the weekend after. You think that will be fine?"

"It doesn't have to be a big deal," he says reassuringly. "We'll act normal. Nothing has changed."

"Nothing?" I move closer to his lips, tauntingly.

"Mmmhmm..." He closes his arms around my waist, pulling me to him, as our lips touch.

He starts slowly, pecking my lips, until he finally starts losing some of that self-imposed restraint. He groans softly, breathing out of his nose, when his tongue makes it into my mouth.

In an impulse, my legs straddle him, and I'm sitting on his lap, the need for friction is almost too much.

I can feel him, under his shorts, through my sweatpants. He groans a little louder when I move my hips.

When he chuckles, I pull away in confusion.

He gestures to the bottom of the chair, where Wrinkles is up on two legs. He has a good bite on Edward's shorts, which he is pulling on with the faintest of growls.

"Hey buddy, it's okay. It was consensual." He runs a hand over Wrinkles' head and the little monster barks at him!

"Hey!" I'm off Edward's lap, grabbing Wrinkles in my hands. "You stop that!"

I turn to Edward apologetically while he gets off the chair as well, arranging his shorts. He's having trouble containing his smile. "It's okay..." he says, laughing through his nose. "How about we take him to the park? We'll be best buddies at the end of the day, you just wait and see."

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

Edward, of course, does not disappoint. He plays with Wrinkles for hours, until the little monster falls asleep on his lap. We sit under a tree, as clichés would have it, sharing some fruit I packed. He asks about work and the event we're holding in two weeks. We also go over his arrangement with Coach and how he's supposed to take it easy for the next two games and will only play for 60 minutes. I'll believe it when I see it.

We end up having a perfect day, and at the end, Wrinkles is whimpering, begging Edward not to go. I know exactly how my poor little monster feels.

He kisses me goodbye, hand gripping behind my neck. Every time we kiss, I feel him loosening a little more. When he disappears behind the door, I can't wait to see him again.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

The week drags. Work is exciting but the promise of seeing Edward lingers in my every thought. We talk several times on the phone. He mentions training has been intense, but every question about his injury gets me an evasive response. He says he's doing well, so I decide to believe him for the moment.

As Friday approaches, the excitement to see him is still there, however, it's been tainted with the anxiety of getting to see him... in front of everyone else. It's not until Thursday night I realize there's only one thing that would make it better. Like Edward said, as far as Emmett knows, and we're honest with him, everything should be okay.

Emmett answers after the second ring. "Hey Bella, what's up?!"

"Hi, are you busy?" I sit gingerly on the edge of my bed.

"Nah..." he says, exhaling roughly, and by the sounds of the television just coming on behind him, I'd bet he just collapsed on his couch. "Just got home from practice. I'm wiped. Coach's being a mean motherfucker."

"So I've heard..." I don't realize what I've just said until the words play again in my brain.

Emmett does not give me any time to freak out though as he starts chuckling. "Has Edward been whining? What a marshmallow!"

Emmett's laugh is real, and honest, and it makes me smile. "A little bit..." I say, running my hands over my thighs.

"So, you're coming to Wolfsburg?" he asks right away.

He knows.

They've talked.

Of course they've talked. Edward's taken care of it already.

"Yeah?"

"Great! It will be good to see you, Bella."

I sigh. He's being so great. How could this be possible? I have to ask. "Are you okay?"

"Well... I'm a little sore, and hungry as fuck." His answer is instant, and it makes me smile.

"Em..."

"Bella, you worry too much. I'm just dandy. Okay?"

"Okay..." I sigh, hugging my knees to my chest.

"I'll see you Saturday?"

"Yes."

"Okay, so unless you're planning on coming here and either bringing or cooking me dinner, I gotta go."

The smile returns to my face. "All right… good night."

"Night, Bella."

I hang up with a sigh and drop on the mattress.

Emmett is truly an amazing guy, and I am lucky to have him in my life. Whatever happens with me and Edward, I can't allow it to hurt Emmett — we can't, we won't. I'm confident that Edward feels this way too, so we will find a way to make it work.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

A/N: who's excited about Wolfsburg?


	23. Chapter 23

Chapter 23.

EPOV

It doesn't take me long to find her. As soon as I look up, there she is, looking radiant as ever and staring right back at me. Isabella sits next to a few of the girls, a warm smile on her face. Even though there's no grand gesture acknowledging each other, I feel connected to her. The fact that she's here for me, with me, is one I've never even dreamed would feel so good.

After sending her one final, small smile, I focus my attention back on the game.

This game against Wolfsburg isn't a particularly important one. We're pretty much set on second place in the league, regardless of the outcome tonight. Of course we don't want to put a mediocre performance, but with the Champions League final looming, the local league is hardly on anyone's mind.

For me however, this game means so much more. I am very aware of my situation, and of what Coach and I agreed would be my role tonight, yet I can't contain myself. I won't be able to take it easy today — not while she's watching.

The one game that Isabella comes to see _me_ play is not going to be one with a half assed performance on my part.

We get a good start when Seth serendipitously gets one in on the 5th minute. Unfortunately, it doesn't build up to anything else. It was an effortless try, and we don't manage to create much more after that.

In theory, Wolfsburg shouldn't give us too many problems, but it seems like our defense is half asleep. I find myself having to stretch to cover for several slips that almost translate to goals before the 30th minute.

I try my best to keep the attack going on the right flank. I want us to secure our 1-0 lead until halftime at least, especially since Coach insisted I only play for 60 minutes.

Regardless of how hard I try, I can't cover for everyone, and on the 38th minute, Wolfsburg scores, followed by a few chaotic minutes where they score again on the 41st and the 43rd, leaving everyone speechless.

I'm pissed.

Emmett yells at everyone on our way to the tunnels, and in the locker rooms, Coach does some yelling too. I can't do any yelling; I just try to keep focused on breathing and stretching my leg.

Before we go back in, I approach Coach. There is no way I'd let him sub me off when we're losing 3-1 — not when Isabella is on those stands, watching me. He agrees to check at the 60 minute mark to see how I feel.

It seems the yelling had some effect and everyone finally seems focused on the game. Feeling more secure with our defense, I start playing more aggressively on the attack, aided by Seth who shifts to the right and seems intent on making something of this game as well.

It takes a while however, and when the 60th minute comes along, we're still losing 3-1. I pretend I don't hear Coach the first couple times he calls me. I'm not a good liar, and Coach knows me very well. Still, when I can't ignore him anymore, I wave him off, signaling I'm okay, in spite of the twinge I've started to feel in my hip, even under the painkillers.

I don't dare to glance at Isabella now. She knows of my agreement with Coach, and I am sure she'll disapprove of me playing the whole 90 minutes.

The thing is, after the Champions League Final, I don't know how long I'll be out for, or what chance I will have to play for her… to play at all. So I stay — I stay, and I give it my all.

At least Seth is cooperating. He does not give up either and on the 71st min, he scores through my cross. The kid is amazing. He brings the energy out of nowhere, and on the 88th minute, he wins a free kick and scores it flawlessly.

Everyone seems content with the draw. I, however, am not. I keep trying, keep pushing, but at the final whistle, the game ends 3-3.

I am a bit frustrated but okay with the overall result. I, at least, did my absolute best.

Coach says a few words while I ice my hip… not that it helps… not today. I can feel it already as I cool down, today is going to hurt, and only a shot will help.

My teammates hover over me. Apparently, I outran everyone on the team, which hasn't happened since my injury, and everyone is making a huge deal out of it. I don't pay much attention to any of it, and once they settle down, I wait for the medic to take care of Seth first — who seemed to have pulled his abs during the game.

I sit with my leg stretched, muscles tense, and my entire body sore. It's all quickly forgotten though when Isabella walks in, flanked by Alice, and their eyes roam the room. Alice points at Emmett, who is at the other side of the room. Isabella smiles politely at her, but I know that smile — that's not who she was looking for at all.

She still walks to him first, and I try not to stare as he hugs her, but I can't help the sinking feeling in my stomach. I look down, trying not to intrude, but it takes a monumental effort to do so. How did I manage to look at them before? I honestly don't know anymore.

When I look up, I'm met by warm brown eyes. On its own, my body shoots up from the bench, forgetting about my hip altogether. The pain that fires from where my hand tightly grips my side, up my back and down my leg, serves as a reminder of my condition.

I try to keep a straight face for her and stand still. It's all in vain though because her eyes immediately show concern. I take a deep breath while she moves closer.

She stands right in front of me and crosses her arms over her chest, cocking her head to the side. "Is that your version of taking it easy?" she asks. She's trying to be mad at me, but her melted chocolate eyes betray her, showing nothing but warmth and concern.

God, how I wish I could hug her right now.

One quick look at everyone around us, I divert quickly from that thought.

"I guess I got a little carried away." I shrug with a smile, trying to be as casual as I can. I just need to get the cortisone shot so I can get through dinner and then hopefully spend some time with her.

She sighs, not amused by my attempt at a joke. "Are you okay?"

My hand leaves my hip and reaches towards her. As subtly as I can manage, I run a quick finger down her arm, over the denim of her jacket, desperate for some kind of contact.

"I will be," I say, trying to rein myself in. I did not anticipate that not touching her would be so difficult. "Was your flight okay?"

She nods and looks around, a bit nervous perhaps… distracted, for sure. This isn't easy for her either.

My eyes follow hers as she spots Alice who is blatantly staring right at us.

"We'll catch up over dinner," I offer with a smile, getting her attention back to me.

She smiles back as our eyes meet, trying to communicate everything we can't say with words right now.

"Okay," she says with a tiny nod. Her hand reaches for mine, giving it a little squeeze.

She leaves after our short exchange, and I slump back onto the bench with a grunt.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

Fortunately, the time with the medics goes by quickly, despite the pain. They do everything in their power. I even get the cortisone shot, but nothing seems to be really working today, and the constant pain emanating from my hip is barely manageable when I make it to the bus.

Seth is in my seat animatedly chatting with Emmett. I make my silent way to them, all my energy and focus solely on walking straight.

When he sees me, Seth shoots up from the seat. "Ah, Cullen, my man." He gives me a little punch on my shoulder. It's not much, but I still need to suppress a wince. "It's nice to know not EVERYONE on this team plans to slack off before the final." He raises his voice on purpose, so that the whole bus hears. I ease myself into the seat next to Emmett, a hand clasping my side, trying anything that helps.

"I hope Ribery was watching," he adds through a laugh. "Actually, I hope he wasn't!"

I look at him as he retreats, smacking Jasper's head on his way. I wonder how he can possibly have so much energy while I am dead on my ass.

"Oh…" Seth comes back, hanging from the seats in front of us. "We're all going out after dinner. You coming?"

I shake my head at Seth automatically, shifting in my seat.

Who would have thought sitting down could be such a curse? I guess it depends how long you've been up, but today… standing hurts, sitting hurts, how do you win with this thing?

"Bella coming?" Seth turns to ask Emmett, and I freeze.

"I don't think so," Emmett answers swiftly, unaffected.

"Why not?"

"I think she said she wanted to stay in… I don't know." Emmett isn't even looking at Seth as he flips the pages of the magazine in his hands.

"And you're not staying with her?" Seth laughs, looking at me in disbelief.

 _Fuck._

"I told you already," Emmett continues calmly. "We're just friends now."

"Right…" Seth laughs again, gesturing at Emmett but still looking at me.

I shift uncomfortably again, but this time pain shoots up my spine, making me wince.

"You okay?" Seth frowns.

I nod, closing my eyes and taking deep breaths.

 _Shit, this is bad._

"I thought you were getting the shot," Emmett turns to me in concern.

"I was… I did. I don't know… It didn't work." I run a hand down my face, and when I open my eyes, Seth is still looking at me, his frown deepening.

"I'm fine," I tell the kid, and he relaxes slightly. As the bus starts moving, he goes back to his seat.

However, I'm not fine. Not even close. The shot obviously didn't work. I should be numb by now, but everything still hurts… and it will only get worse. I'm not even sure I can get through dinner like this anymore.

"It might just need a bit of time," Emmett whispers, patting my knee as I close my eyes again, focus on my breathing, and try as much as I can to relax.

Isabella is here though — she came to Wolfsburg because of me. Whether the drugs work or not, I am not missing tonight with her.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

A/N: Ugh, boys…


	24. Chapter 24

Chapter 24.

Alice walks beside me while my mind is going 1000 miles per minute. I underestimated how awkward, how difficult, being here was going to be, under everyone's scrutiny, while wanting to be with Edward.

Alice says Emmett has told everyone we had a friendly break up. Whether they believed it or not, I don't know. She seems suspicious though, but I don't think it's about the nature of our breakup. She suspects something else is going on, I can feel it. I just don't think it's appropriate for me to disclose whatever is going on with Edward to anyone.

The hotel in Wolfsburg is small and not fancy at all. They arrange a small dinner buffet for the guys while I sit with Alice. As soon as I see him come in, I know something is wrong. He walks slowly, almost too carefully, but without limping. His eyes find mine immediately and they try to convince me that he's okay. That this is okay.

Emmett walks next to him, an arm around his shoulder as they approach our table. They both sit, one on each side of me — flanking me — facing Alice and Jasper as well.

I shoot Edward a quick smile as he sits next to me, trying not to be too obvious. However, I am very aware that he remains still, silent next to me, while Emmett and Jasper make small talk mainly about the game.

When they mention Edward, and the fact that he outran everyone in the team today, I turn in his direction. His food is still untouched in his plate. He tries to get rid of the frown in his forehead, but I catch it before he does.

When his leg starts bouncing under the table, I try to decipher what is wrong, because surely something is… very wrong.

Is this too much? Having me here, with Emmett next to me as well, in front of everyone?

Maybe we didn't think this through, and it was way too soon.

Without thinking, my hand reaches for his leg, and I softly run my fingers over his knee, over the denim of his jeans. The relief I feel when his knee stops bouncing is quickly disrupted by the screech of chair legs scraping against the floor. I whip my head around in just enough time to find Emmett shooting up from his chair and urging away.

Alice's eyes are on me in surprise, but Jasper seems too busy eating to really notice or care.

When I turn to Edward, one hand is shielding his eyes. As he runs it down his face, his expression is composed, leaving it void of any emotion. He smiles forcefully, gesturing with his head for me to follow Emmett. His hand reaches for mine under the table as well, and with a little tap of his fingers over my hand, he nods at me in encouragement.

I find Emmett pacing in the lobby. "Em…" I approach him quickly, trying not to make a scene.

"Bella, I'm sorry…" His eyes avoid me as he turns around and kicks one of the chairs in the lobby. "Shit!"

"Hey," I say firmly, moving closer and standing in front of him. "I am the one who should be sorry. This is too much. Too soon. You've been so great, Emmett. I'm really sorry this is so awkward."

He takes a deep breath, finally looking at me. "I'm really trying, you know? I 'm trying really hard to make this as easy as possible, but… seeing you two together is going to take some time getting used to."

"I know. I shouldn't have come."

He pinches the bridge of his nose, breathing harshly. "Listen," he starts. "He's not okay. His hip is wrecked, and he played way too hard today." He pauses and shoots me a glance. "He said he had one of those shots, but it obviously didn't work."

 _Of course it didn't._

My heart sinks in realization. I've been so worried about everyone and everything else that I somehow managed to overlook what playing like he did today would do to Edward.

"I think he's in some serious pain," Emmett continues. "And the only reason he's sitting at that table, trying to get through this dinner, is because of you… He should be in bed."

I cover my face with my hands, trying to contain the tears that fill my eyes.

"I'm going out with some of the guys…" Emmett adds. "I'll stay with Seth tonight, okay?"

I look up at Emmet, his words slowly sinking in.

Emmett and Edward are rooming together… Is he offering his room?

Is he suggesting I stay with Edward there tonight?

Tears start falling from my eyes, and I quickly wipe them away with my fingers.

"Bella, he needs you." He takes a step closer but then backs away. "Don't worry about me, okay?"

I stare into his eyes, trying to figure him out. They seem sincere, a bit saddened, but honest.

"Go," he insists. "I'll be okay. I promise."

With a sigh, I wrap him in a hug, whispering a quick 'thank you' into his chest.

I gather myself and rush back in, desperate to check on Edward.

At the table, I find only Alice and Jasper, and my eyes frantically start roaming the room.

Did he leave?

Did he go rest?

Suddenly, Alice is pulling me away from the table and out of the dining hall into the small hallway to the restroom.

"He went in there," Alice points to the restrooms. "He's not okay, Bella."

"Has anyone else gone in?" I ask in determination, disregarding what it might sound like. Honestly, I don't care. I know he's falling apart, and I have to see him — I need to help him.

"I don't think so, but Bella-"

I don't let her finish and I'm rushing in the hallway.

I pant and try to collect myself as I wait outside of the door. If the men's looks anything like the women's restroom, there will be a small waiting area between this door and the door that leads to the wash area and stalls.

"Edward?" I call, knocking softly. There's no answer, so I step in.

The waiting area is empty, but I can hear the sound of running water in the other room.

On a whim, I lock the door from inside.

I call once more, at the other door, but still there's no response, so I go in.

Inside, Edward stands in front of the sinks, his back to me. He's bent at the waist with his hands holding on the counter and his head dropped between his arms.

I walk closer from behind, looking at him through the mirrors. A soft groan emanates from his chest as he breathes harshly over the sink, while he wets his hand and runs it behind his neck.

My heart breaks — he is in pain.

When my hand touches his shoulder, his head snaps up. "Isabella…" He turns around quickly. "Is Emmett… Are you okay?" He stands up straight in front of me, tense, his hands in fists at his sides.

"You're asking me?!" I can't believe he's still trying to pretend he's okay.

He breathes out as his hand reaches for the countertop. He leans onto it, bending a bit at the waist, releasing the weight from his leg.

"I'm sorry…" He breathe-groans. "You were right. It was too soon. This is too hard."

My stomach sinks. He can barely stand up straight, and yet he's worried about me, about Emmett, about everything else but that.

"Shh…" I move closer, standing right in front of him, my hands reaching for his face. "It's okay."

I don't know how else to reassure him, how to help him.

"I thought I would be of more use tonight." His eyes close in a wince as he breathes out through his nose.

"Please, stop," I beg, pulling on his face.

He opens his eyes and they bore into mine and I could swear they look glassy. "For so long I've had you so close… close to him and…" He pauses for air before continuing. "I could do it, I could stand it. But now… tonight… I can't. I just can't."

My thumbs caress his cheeks, as I stand speechless in front of him. I can't even begin to imagine what he's been through… what he's going through, trying to conceal this while already dealing with so much.

He closes his eyes, leaning into me until his forehead touches mine. His free hand mimics mine and he touches his lips softly to mine.

He exhales through his nose, pulling me closer. A shiver runs down my spine when he groans, both hands cupping my behind. A second later, I'm on the counter with my legs wrapped around his waist and he is devouring my mouth.

Not holding back.

Not reining it in.

He presses himself onto me, his hand roaming my thigh, until he suddenly stops. The next noise to come out of him can only be described as a whimper.

He's in pain…

My legs drop at his sides and his hand reaches for his hip.

"You need to lie down," I say when his head drops on my shoulder.

He nods against my neck, breathing harshly.

"Can you walk, or should I get some help?" My fingers run on the back of his head where his hair is damp with sweat, water — I don't know — while he takes a few breaths.

"I can walk," he states after he has collected himself, straightening his pose, offering a hand for me to get down.

I grab onto his hand and he helps me down, staying very close to me. When I look up at him he offers me a smile, which I can't begin to comprehend how much it cost to put there, and I melt when he kisses my forehead.

"Should I go out first?" I ask and he frowns, turning to look at the door.

We soon remember where we are, who's outside, and our little moment ends.

"Maybe you should…" He clears his throat. His hand closes tightly around mine, antagonizing his words.

He's holding on to me for dear life, and I start doubting he'd make it to that room by himself.

"Can you make it to the lobby?" I rub my thumb under the palm of his hand, looking up at him.

He takes a deep breath, his eyes shifting in the direction of the lobby. After a minute of consideration, he releases my hand and nods.

"Okay, I'll meet you there," I say.

His hands cup my face and he pulls me to him, pressing his lips onto mine.

Exhaling through his nose, he releases me and whispers "Okay." His hand reaches for the counter again to hold himself up.

I nod at him and rush out. I need to get him to bed as soon as possible.

I wait in the lobby for a few minutes, until he comes. He's making his way slowly but surely to the elevators, not obviously limping but clearly struggling. I look down and try to resist the urge to rush and help him, to not draw any attention to ourselves. There are not a lot of people in the lobby, so I rush to the elevator instead and push the call button.

Edward makes it to the doors before the elevator gets there, and with a hand on the wall he holds himself up. The doors open with a ding, and when he makes no move to go in, I look at him. With a hand, he gestures for me to go in first.

As soon as the doors close, he slumps against the wall, breathing out harshly, his face contorting into a tight wince I wish I never have to see again.

My hand surrounds his, my thumb rubbing his palm, wishing I could somehow take some of the pain from him.

He exhales roughly, his fingers squeezing mine.

"We're almost there…" I whisper, trying to keep my voice from breaking, trying to be strong for him.

A little over a week ago we were at an elevator, in Madrid, that time he was shutting me out, this time he's letting me in — he is letting me help him.

When the doors open, he releases my hand, steps forward and holds the door for me to exit.

His limping gets more pronounced as we approach his room, and once we are inside, every step is accompanied by a grunt.

He makes it straight to bed, and as he flops on his back on top of the covers, the relief is obvious, even in his rough exhale.

He made it.

I stand there, in his bedroom, for a few seconds, uncertain about how to help him.

He is still breathing harshly, eyes in a wince, his hand pressing into his hip.

"Is there anything that would help?" I ask tentatively, trying to calm myself. Freaking out will clearly not help either one of us.

He groans a bit louder, and it is then I notice that one of his hands is tightly fisting the bed cover.

On an impulse, I'm on the bed, kneeling at his side, grabbing onto his fist. "Edward, please. What can I do?"

I settle next to him, caressing his arm gently, waiting for him to say something… anything. He starts breathing a little better, taking deeper, slower breaths, until he seems to have calmed himself enough to slowly loosen his grip on the bed sheets.

His fingers twitch beneath mine before he removes his hand completely, reaching into the pocket of his jeans.

He retrieves his cellphone from his pocket and hands it over to me. "Call Dr. Braun… please."

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

A/N: * hides *


	25. Chapter 25

A/N: Longest chapter yet... welp... you can blame Packy!

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

Chapter 25.

EPOV

I haven't been as thankful for Dr. Braun as I am at this moment.

It took everything I had to sit still and that table over dinner, in front of Isabella and everyone else. I'm not even sure how I made it up to the room.

Braun did everything he could aside from another shot: massages, stretches, numbing cream… but as he explained, the meds can only do so much. If I continue playing like this it will get harder and longer to recover.

There's only one more game, though, and then the final. I am so close I can almost taste it. I may not be able to move right now, but there is no way I am missing the final.

Right now, I need to stay in this bed though so I can get my ass to Dortmund first thing tomorrow morning, and show Braun some improvement. Otherwise, he will bring up my case to Coach again.

My plans to spend the rest of the weekend with Isabella will have to get sidelined.

Braun zips his bag and with a final nod leaves the room. My head remains turned, staring at that door, waiting for Dr. Braun to fulfill the last thing I asked of him tonight.

When she finally steps tentatively in the room, her fingers twist and turn as she clasps her hands in front of herself. Her lip becomes trapped under gnawing teeth as her eyes find mine.

God, I hate making her worry.

My lips stretch for her. Even in my current state, the mere sight of her makes me smile.

"Better?" she asks, matching my grin.

I nod, keeping my smile in place for her, trying to convey that I'm all right. With a hand, I tap the mattress next to me. I need her closer, but I can't move to reach for her.

She complies immediately, lying next to me, her legs folded behind her as she holds herself up on her elbow.

"What a day, huh?" she says, reaching for my head, her fingers running soothing patterns in my hair. My hand stretches for her knee, desperate for contact. As I find it, my eyes close, relaxing further into the pillow.

Momentarily fueled by her touch, I try to sit up, to get a better look at her, and not feel like a log in this bed. I hold my breath, push with my elbows on the mattress, trying to bring myself up, but my legs are not helping, and they feel as if they are made out of lead.

With a hand on my shoulder she pushes me down, and I collapse on the mattress, roughly and out of breath.

"What are you doing?" she complains softly.

I take a deep breath, pushing my frustration to the back of my mind. So I won't be able to sit… I still would want to make the most out of my time with her.

"Well, I was trying to sit," I say, turning my head to her and flashing her a smile. "And failing hard."

She smiles and I chuckle, laughing through my nose, but as I do, I remember I can't exactly move without being blinded by pain.

"Shhh…" Her hand is back in my hair. "Are you uncomfortable? Is there anything I can do to help?"

I shake my head subtly, breathing deeply and careful not to make any more noises that would make her nervous. As long as I don't move too much, I'll manage.

"Maybe another pillow?" she suggests.

"No, no, I'm fine." I turn my head to see her. She holds the side of her face in her hand, elbow up on the mattress while lying next to me. Her eyes crinkle in the faint light, and I can see the splattering of freckles over her nose and cheeks.

She is so beautiful.

As if the last few minutes didn't happen, I try to turn on my side to kiss her, but again, I fail.

"Please, stop." Her hand runs down my arm as I take deep breaths and try to recover. "Stop pushing yourself so hard. Just relax, please."

"I'm sorry I ruined our weekend," I say through my teeth.

"What are you talking about?"

"Well, tonight is ruined," I explain, my eyes searching for hers. "And I have to go back to Dortmund tomorrow morning… I can't stay — Braun won't let me."

She blinks a couple times, in realization, but I can't find any disappointment in her eyes.

"It's okay," she says right away.

"It's not."

"Listen to me…" Her eyebrows scrunch in a little frown. "Today was great. I missed you, and I wanted to see you. I loved being able to watch you play."

I know she means it, but still… I made her fly here to watch a game and then nurse a log in a bed.

She sees through me, of course, so before I can add another bitter remark, she continues, "You didn't have to play like that."

"I wanted to show off for you." It may have been stupid, but it's the truth.

She tries in vain not to smile. "You'll have plenty of opportunities to do that…" she pauses, her eyes boring into mine. "… after the surgery."

I get lost in her eyes and the implication they add to her words. She'll be here after the surgery. Here… with me.

I reach for her cheek, edging my body closer, suppressing a wince when my hip protests painfully. I run my finger over the softness of her skin, my thumb grazing the corner of her lips, while matching her smile… or trying to, at least.

Unfortunately, I can't hold the position for long, and I sink back flat on my back with a harsh breath.

Scooting closer to me, her hand reaches for my hair again.

"Two more weeks, Edward," she whispers in my ear, sending shivers down my body. "One more game, and then the final." Her fingers work magic behind my ear as I relax and focus on her words. _The final_. "You can do this," she adds, and I'm done.

I love her.

I want to tell her so.

I love her faith in me, her trust.

I don't tell her though — that I love her — not yet.

While she continues her hypnotizing patterns in my hair, I remain focused on my breathing. My brain travels miles away to the final in Wembley, after Wembley, the surgery, the recovery, and the best part — imagining Isabella by my side through it all.

At some point she falls asleep, her hand falling from my head and making it under her pillow.

I look at her, not in a creepy way, but just contemplating her features as she breathes in and out peacefully. Okay, maybe it's a little creepy, but it's not like I can do anything else.

As much as I hate how things turned out today, the fact that she's here, next to me — sleeping like an angel with folded hands under her face and her knees bent in front of her — it makes everything better. That is until I notice the tiny bumps popping over her shoulders and arms.

She's cold.

Dammit.

The seemingly effortless task of reaching for the throw at the foot of the bed right now seems not humanly possible.

After failing a few times to reach it with my feet, I proceed to not so gracefully sit and reach for it with my hand. I succeed after a few trials that leave me afraid I might wake her up with my panting.

Fortunately, she doesn't wake, and when my breathing returns to normal, I resume my not overly creepy — since now she's covered — staring of her.

Around four in the morning, I hear the click of the door. I know who it is before I see him — there's really only one other person with the key to this room anyway.

Emmett walks in tentatively, quietly and slowly, but as he realizes I'm awake, he perks up and starts rushing his movements.

"I forgot to grab my things," he whispers without looking at me. "I will only be a minute."

He speeds to his side of the bedroom and grabs his bag, clumsily throwing his stuff in it. His face is in a frown as he zips it, and turns his back to us as he proceeds to walk around the bed and out.

"Emmett…" I push myself on my elbows and manage to sit up halfway. The hours I've been lying here have definitely helped, and I am able to hold myself up for a bit. "I'm sorry." My voice is clipped with the intensifying pain in my hip. "This wasn't part of the plan. There wasn't really a plan."

We all underestimated the consequences of Isabella being here… with me. That much is clear.

He sighs at the door, finally turning to look at me. "I know…" He drops his bag to run a hand over his hair. He looks exhausted. I bet, just as myself, he has not slept this night. "I overreacted. I'll get over it." He stares at his feet, his hand still in his hair.

I appreciate his effort, but he is clearly lying.

Before I can address him, I drop carefully back on the mattress — I need to save most of my energy to be able to leave this room and fly to Dortmund in a few hours. I breathe deeply but quietly, trying my best not to wake Isabella. "Emmett, stop…" I whisper through my teeth. "I know it hurts, and I am sorry."

He shakes his head and I know, he won't acknowledge this.

He takes a step closer to the bed, his eyes darting from mine to the hand that is tightly gripping my side. "Speaking of hurting…" He waves a hand to my hip. "Is it better?"

"Not really." It's manageable at best.

"Are you staying here until tomorrow?" His eyes betray him and he peeks at Isabella, a painful look flashes through them, before he composes himself and looks back at me. He knew I had asked permission to not fly back with the team and stay here with Isabella instead.

"I can't. I can barely move."

"Playing like that was really stupid if you ask me," he says with a semi-fake grin appearing on his face. "But I get it." His eyes fly to Isabella again, and the sadness that takes over his face makes my chest tight with the fleeting thought of losing her. I don't think I could ever survive losing her, or watching her in bed, with someone else — with my best friend…

"Emmett-"

"Is she okay?" He cuts me off.

"She's trying to be," I say, resisting the urge to turn to look at her myself.

"Okay." Emmett nods, walking back and reaching for his bag. "See you on the bus, then." And with that, he's gone.

I sigh, relaxing into the pillow. Of course I didn't expect us to sail through this. I knew it would be tough. I knew it would hurt. I just never expected Emmett's pain to be so… real — so close. He is trying his best to ease up on it… and so is Isabella. If I had been in better shape last night, I would have too.

We just need some time, I decide. All three of us — just time.

At six, I can finally take the Toradol. Braun worries about my kidneys and the excessive use of painkillers, so I stick to his plan. Luckily, lying down for as long as I have must have helped with the inflammation, because around seven, when Isabella stirs, I'm already up, having showered and stretched.

I am sore everywhere, but at least I'm confident I can make it out of here and to Dortmund without worrying anyone.

"Hey…" She smiles sleepily from the bed, her arms stretching in front of her. I don't have to reciprocate her smile. I've been grinning like a fool before she even opened her eyes. "You're better."

"I am," I state with a nod. I won't have her worrying about me today. Not today, or next week for that matter.

"That's great!" She runs her hands over her dress with a small grimace.

I know it must have been uncomfortable to sleep like that. I can't wait for the day she can have her stuff here with me.

Time — we need time, I remind myself with a sigh.

She turns to look at the clock. "Oh my god, it's almost time to go!" She shoots up from the bed, rushing to the bathroom. "Why didn't you wake me?!"

"We still have time," I say calmly. The double meaning of my words is not lost to me.

I lean against the dresser while she's in there, my hands gripping the top and helping me up. Once I hear movement close to the door, I stand back up.

Her hair is in a ponytail when she comes out, her face freshly washed. She is stunning.

She walks closer to me, slowly, smiling. My hands tingle.

Wrapping her arms around my waist, she smiles up at me. "I'm glad you feel better."

In the morning light, and without any makeup, I can see just how crowded with freckles her face really is. There are thousands of them!

With the tip of my finger, I tap her nose, where an especially adorable cluster of freckles resides. "Thank you."

My fingers surround her chin and I pull her to my lips. I kiss her softly but fervently, taking in as much as I can, knowing I'll have to say goodbye to her soon. When she pulls back, I don't manage to keep the sullen sigh from my lips.

She frowns up at me. "Did you sleep?"

I frown back. She knows I didn't, why would she ask?

Don't lie to her!

Don't make her worry though.

"I got some rest," I say. It's not a lie — my body is better, but I'm still exhausted. What else was I supposed to do? I try smiling at her. "I'm fine," I say, but she rolls her eyes at me.

"I have to go get ready at Alice's room," she says, getting back to business. "I'll ride with the girls, and I can change my ticket at the airport."

"I've taken care of that already."

"Edward…"

"It's the least I can do."

She sighs, looking up at me. "Thank you." The words wrap fervently around her lips as she utters them.

A silent tension falls around us — this is where we say goodbye, really goodbye, to keep up with appearances in front of everyone else later on.

"We will have next weekend," I promise, as much for her as for me. My hand cups her face and my fingers go over her cheek. I smile, despite the fact I am dreading the next few hours.

"Would you be able to fly after the game next Saturday?"

"Isabella, I'll crawl into the plane if necessary."

Okay, so maybe I shouldn't have said that. Her face contorts, in pain… or anger, I am not sure, but she steps away from me, and I mentally kick myself.

"No," is what she says, taking a deep breath as if to calm down. "You will not," she orders, stressing every word, every syllable, with a force that makes me shaky inside.

She is pissed.

"That was a stupid thing to say. I'm sorry." I reach for her hand and pull her back closer to me, but I can't keep the smile from my face., because pissed Isabella is really very adorable. "I'll take it easy during the game, and I will be fine."

She shakes her head at me and pulls her hand back in resistance.

I don't let go though. "I mean it. I will play the easiest sixty minutes of my life. Then I will shower and get on that plane and be there for you."

"That is not what I'm worried about," she says stubbornly, not looking at me.

I know what she wants, but I can't promise her I'll be pain free — I haven't been in so long.

I run a finger along her jaw, pushing under it so she faces me. When her eyes meet mine they are hard at first, but as I caress her hair and my eyes beg her for understanding, they melt to a sweet shade of brown that makes my knees wobbly.

I would crawl into that plane for her. I would. I won't have to, though, because I will take it easy on that game and be at the very best I can be for her that night.

"I will take care of myself, I promise. I will be there and I will be fine."

"I'm starting to hate that word, you know?" She scowls at me disapprovingly.

I smile, trying to ease up the tension, wrapping my arms around her and bringing her close to me. "I know, and I'm sorry, but I have to work with what I have."

"I don't want you to fly if you're in too much pain." Her bottom lip is pushed out minimally in the most adorable pout I have ever seen. If she only knew the power she has over me… there's nothing I wouldn't give her — nothing she could ask of me I wouldn't do.

"I won't be," I promise. "I'll do everything necessary so that I won't."

She tiptoes and kisses me one more time before I let her go.

I rest back against the dresser and look at the room. My things are packed and I am ready to go, but we don't leave in another thirty minutes. The longer I sit on that bus the more uncomfortable it will get, and I always end up having to wait for everyone else anyways, so I doubt it will be just thirty minutes.

I decide it then — mission "Taking it easy" starts right now. I limp my way to the bed and lay back down for a while.

I don't know how it happened, but suddenly I'm being woken up by the vibration coming from my pants' pocket.

I must have dozed off.

I rub my eyes tiredly with one hand while I extricate the phone with the other.

"Your hair looks fine, just come down," her text reads.

I smile at the screen as I type. "I can't decide whether to part it on the right or the left. I need one more minute."

When I make it to the lobby, it seems as if everyone is there already.

"Ha! See? I wasn't the last one down here this time!" Seth points at me while defending himself to our travel coordinator. I smile apologetically at him, scratching the back of my neck.

Slacking off already feels weird.

Isabella's eyes pierce mine from the other end of the lobby, where she stands, next to the girls with their bags at their feet.

We fail to keep the smiles from our faces, but luckily they start calling people into the team's bus and the family and friends' van, so I nod at her and get on my way.

Emmett is asleep when I sit next to him on the bus, and snores all the way to the airport. I envy the ease with which most of my teammates sleep. As soon as their heads touch those pillows, they're out. Whereas me, I'm most times too tired to sleep, as puzzling as that is.

When we arrive, Emmett doesn't say anything as we get our bags, but he walks next to me on our way in. My eyes keep constant track of Isabella, and once we are in the terminal and our bags have been checked, I see her fidgeting, squeezing her fingers with one hand then the other. I turn my head to Emmett, whose eyes are fixated on her too.

When I turn around, Isabella is already on her way to us, and I freeze.

Maybe I should step away, let her say goodbye to him first… As I inch my body forward though, Emmett finally says something.

"Where do you think you are going?" he scoffs.

I stand there, petrified, my eyes shifting from him, standing tall next to me, to her, biting her lip, making her way over to us.

"Hey," Isabella says to both of us, standing right in front — and in the middle — of us. "So, my flight leaves from gate 5 instead." She switches her weight, from one foot to the other, and I wish I wasn't so tired so I could handle this better.

I am failing to handle this at all!

Emmett turns to me, shaking his head, before taking one step closer to her. "It was nice to see you, Bella," he says, embracing her in a hug.

She smiles up at him before she turns to me. Without saying anything, her arms reach for me.

"I'll see you Saturday," she whispers in my ear. My arms barely respond in time to hug her back before she releases me.

Her eyes are on me one last time — strong, commanding, asking me to be okay.

I want to tell her I am, or that I will be, but I just need a minute. I think she knows anyways, because she leaves with a sweet smile on her face.

"So, that went well…" Emmett laughs dryly next to me. When I turn to him all humor, and probably color, drained from my face, he adds, "Dude, you need some sleep… pronto."

I do get sleep eventually — 14 hours straight of it to be precise — but only after the tedious flight, the painful rehab session with Braun, the drive home and the arduous fight to keep my eyes open waiting for Isabella's call when she arrived to Munich.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

The week drags. I'm left out of practice Monday and Tuesday, strictly rehab as Braun — and Isabella — ordered. Practice isn't fun anyways when you're slacking off, I discover. What's the point of running laps when you can't push yourself? What fun are sit-ups if you can't challenge your teammates for ten more?

I keep my promise though; I take it easy the entire time. The whole day. The whole week.

The game on Saturday sadly ends up being a disaster.

I've never had to work so hard at not working hard. Going against my instinct is one of the most difficult things I've ever had to do on the pitch. Not going for the ball when I know I could sprint for it and get it. Not going for the tackle when I know I could easily get the ball from my opponent.

I keep having to repeat to myself, "we're taking it easy, we're taking it easy…" to try to calm myself to no avail. I'm still annoyed and grouchy when Coach subs me off at the 60th minute to the second, as we're winning 1-0, and I am forced to witness the nightmare of a game that was about to unfold in front of me.

As soon as I'm out though, our defense falls apart. We concede two goals in less than five minutes, and an idiotic referee annuls our equalizer goal.

The game, the defeat, my teammates' stupidity, and the bad refereeing is not what has me on edge — pissed, fuming, like I hardly ever been before — but the fact that even after taking it easy the whole fucking week and only playing the hardest, easiest 60 minutes of this god-forsaken game, my hip is hurting, really painfully hurting.

For the first time since I can remember, I ask to be taken care of first. Dr. Braun says I could get a shot and we could try some massages that would hopefully help. He also says my hip is already wrecked, and that my version of taking it easy is not going to make that much of a difference. "Not when you're still running and training," he said.

Well, thanks a fucking lot, Braun!

I don't tell him that, of course. As he recounts the few options of treatment I could get right now, in my head, all I can see is Isabella, waiting for me at her place, ready to go to this party she's been looking forward to for weeks.

Do I show up at her place, on time, but unable to walk straight?

Or do I risk being late on the slim chance we can keep my hip injury from ruining tonight as well?

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

A/N: What do you think Edward should do? Care to venture a guess?


	26. Chapter 26

Chapter 26.

Edward is late.

We're not quite yet late for the party as such, but he's late.

I sit in my living room, uneasy and feeling silly in my dress.

I watched their game on TV, and he seemed okay during the game. He was subbed off at precisely 60 minutes, and he didn't look in pain. He didn't. But that really doesn't mean much. He's gotten too good at pretending…

When we talked over the phone, he said everything was fine; that he had just gotten delayed at the stadium, and would have to take a later flight.

He told me not to worry.

I've already taken off my heels and my earrings — seeing how we're supposed to be at this thing in fifteen minutes and he's still not here — when there's a knock on the door that makes Wrinkles (and myself) jump from the couch.

I fling the door open, and Edward stands in front of me, in his team's travel gear, duffel bag hanging from one shoulder and a suit bag folded over his other arm.

"Isabella… I'm so sorry I'm late," his words rush out without a breath. "I was going to head to the hotel first and get ready there, but I didn't want to keep you waiting any longer. I just need five minutes to get ready, I promise."

"Hey," I manage to say, letting him in.

"I am so sorry," he says again, the smile dwindling from his face, as he closes the door and drops his bag.

"Is everything okay?" My eyes roam him, counting the pieces, checking for the set of his shoulders, the tension in his arms, the weight distribution on his legs. "Are you okay? We don't have to go, Edward."

He seems fine, really fine. "We're going," he says.

"Are you really okay?" I ask again.

"Would you be opposed to me saying I'm fine?" A little smirk appears on his face. "Because that is what I am." Of course, he mocks me for saying I hated his overuse of 'I'm fine'.

I smile and his lips collapse with mine. "You look stunning," he whispers against my mouth. "Four minutes." And then he's gone.

I stand in my living room, a little shaken but most of all completely in awe of this man who does not cease to amaze me. I look at the clock — we can still make it.

A couple minutes later, my heels and earrings are back in place when the click of the door brings my attention to him as he walks out of the bathroom.

Edward in a suit.

Not just any suit, but a perfectly tailored, dark navy blue suit, with a white shirt underneath and a matching skinny tie that ends just over his belt. The sight almost makes me lose balance on my five-inch heels.

"Would this do?" he asks shyly, looking down at himself, a strand of hair falling over his forehead, which he pushes up with his hand.

"Only one thing missing." I walk closer to him, picking up the bag I left on the coffee table, his eyes show confusion but he smiles at me, intrigued. "We're supposed to wear these."

From the bag I take out the two masks, a black one for him, and a light blue that matches my dress for me.

"I know it's silly," I explain. "But it's supposed to keep everyone anonymous for donations and such."

"I see," he says. "I'm game." His chuckles are the most delicious sound in the world, and I can't contain myself as I wrap my arms around his neck and bring him close to my lips.

I kiss him without restrictions, and he pulls me to him, equally as eager.

After a moment though, he pulls back for air. "You're going to make us late," he warns, softly groaning against my lips and breathing out of his nose.

I want to tell him to forget this party and take him to my room, but I don't. After all, he just rushed his way here to make it on time, barely.

My fingers move around his neck closing their way around his tie. "I like this," I say, lowering myself down.

"I'm glad." He runs a finger over my cheek. "Shall we?"

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

The cab ride to the ballroom where the fundraiser will be held is short. Our company has gone all out, and the place is lit with lights from outside. Cabs and limos are still dropping people in. So I'm guessing we're not that late.

In the car, I turn to Edward, putting my mask on and smiling broadly to him. "Do I look silly?"

"You look beautiful," he says as the car stops, strapping his mask on as well. He holds up a finger in front of me, asking me to wait, as he leaves the car. In a second, he's on the other side, opening the door for me.

He holds my hand as we go inside and I don't know if it's the masks, the place, the decoration, or the air, but I feel I could be dreaming. And it's hand in hand that we go in and find our table.

Some of my co-workers should be here as well, and although my department was not in charge of organizing this event, we still needed to attend. In these masks though, I have a hard time recognizing anyone.

At our table, Edward pulls the chair for me, but as I sit, he remains behind my chair. "Would you like something to drink?"

I look up at him over my shoulder, his smile flashing under his mask. "Sure," I say before he nods and leaves.

I greet some of the masked people at our table, realizing I don't know any of them. Everyone's going by first names only, keeping with anonymity, so that isn't much help.

My eyes find Edward at the bar. He leans onto the counter as he orders our drinks. My brain does a quick check of his posture, paranoid, searching for any sign that he's not okay.

There isn't any.

"Isabella?" a woman in red sits next to me. "Is it you?"

"Tanya?" Behind her red mask, I somehow seem to recognize her.

We say quick hellos and she quickly starts chit-chatting, while my eyes shift over her shoulder, to the sight of Edward who's is coming behind her.

God, he could easily pass as a model in that suit.

He clears his throat, setting the glass of wine in front of me.

"Tanya, this is Edward," I say, suddenly worried about what to introduce him as.

Tanya turns to him, flashing all of her teeth and extending her hand. "Edward," she adds suspiciously. "My pleasure."

"Tanya is in the outdoors activities department too," I add matter-of'-factly, wondering why she hasn't let go of his hand yet.

"Nice to meet you, Tanya." Edward nods politely, releasing her hand. "Would you like some wine as well?"

Of course he offers.

I inwardly pout.

She nods a little too excitedly, and as he retreats again, she turns to stare pointedly at me.

"Oh my god, Bella! Is that Edward Cullen?"

 _"Yes, and he's mine,"_ I want to say, but I don't. Instead, I sigh. "I thought we were going for anonymity tonight."

"Fair enough," she adds with a smile. "That is one fine, anonymous masked man then." She turns on her chair, gawking at him.

"Stop!" I whisper, smacking as softly as I can manage my hand on her arm.

"Oh, a little possessive, aren't we?" She smiles at me teasingly.

I drop my head, realizing how silly I'm really being.

"It's okay, girl," Tanya continues. "I'd be too."

When Edward returns with a glass of wine for Tanya, she thanks him and starts getting up from his chair.

"Oh no, please stay." With a hand out, Edward stops her from giving him back his seat.

He takes a place behind my chair and, as he asks a million questions about our job, which gets Tanya rambling uncontrollably, his hand makes its way to my shoulder, where his fingers run little circles every now and then.

I find I am very okay with them talking, as long as his fingers remain right where they are.

Before Tanya finishes her wine, they announce they will be serving dinner soon, so she gets up, and after friendly goodbyes, she leaves.

Edward lowers himself next to me. "Are you cold?"

I smile at him, shaking my head. The goose bumps in my arms have nothing to do with temperature — I actually feel very warm.

"No…" I add, after sipping from my wine. "I'm fine."

"Oh no, not the F-word!" His hand flies to his chest.

"Ha, ha…" I roll my eyes at him and he smirks, twirling his drink.

"I never pictured you as the rum and coke type, Edward. Where's your cranberry juice?"

"They were out!" he exclaims in mock shock. "These places you bring me to…" He shakes his head at me before smiling, tsk-ing into his glass.

He's being funny, charming — he truly is a dream come true.

My eyes stay on his, a little longer than it would be socially accepted. With the black mask covering his face, his eyes seem greener than ever, and they shine with a light and a fervency that swallow me whole.

There suddenly is no one around us, just me and him, and I never want this moment to end.

A cloud of feelings envelops me — I love him.

I love him in the most complete sense of the word.

And I've never been so lucky that after being in front of each other for so many years, we still get a chance to be together.

"What is it?" he asks, confused, bringing me back from my spell.

"Nothing," I react quickly, grabbing my drink for shelter.

He still seems suspicious, but doesn't say anything else.

They serve our plates. The food is delicious. He asks more questions about the fundraiser and the kids that will be benefitted. He seems so genuinely excited about my job. He tells me stories about growing up and playing on crappy fields that ended up in more turned ankles than he cares to remember.

I contribute little to the conversation. I barely manage to stay put, enraptured by his voice and his eyes. It feels weird that, with a mask on, he can still convey such emotion through his eyes.

When we're both done with our plates, Edward is immediately off the table to deliver more drinks. When he's back, he remains standing behind me, his hands, again, brushing softly against the back of my neck. After a while, he takes my hand, gesturing to the dance floor.

I dance, with Edward, all night.

He never once complains, suggesting nothing other than what he thinks I want to do. I get lost in his eyes a couple more times, and there isn't ever any sign of weariness. But I know. I know he's tired. He has to be. He had a game today, flew here, and it's already one in the morning.

I know he'll never admit it, or suggest that we leave. So I decide it for us.

We are walking back to our table but before I can tell him I'm ready to leave, they announce a record-breaking donation, which puts us well over our anticipated total collection.

It all hits me at once.

The sports facility will happen. It will be built. Thanks to us.

These kids. They will have a place to play and train and stay off the streets.

I can't believe I am part of this.

I am beaming with excitement when I turn to Edward, my hands covering my mouth, and his smile matching my heart.

"This is great, Isabella." His eyes shine and I just know. That proud smile. The triumph in his eyes. He is part of this too.

"What did you do?!" I squint my eyes at him, suppressing a gasp.

"Me?" The smile never leaves his face.

"Yes. Did you do this?"

"Do what? Donate 1.5 million Euros to your cause?"

"Yes!"

"I did not. I'm sorry. You overestimate how much I make as a professional footballer." Nonchalant as ever, he pulls the chair for me.

I stand by the chair, crossing my arms over my chest, staring pointedly at him. I don't buy it. His eyes betray him. He is ecstatic about this.

He sees right through me. "Can't I just be happy for the kids? Geez…" He scratches the back of his neck nervously, his eyes suddenly avoiding mine. "Would you like another drink?"

"I think I'm ready to go, actually," I say, trying to be casual as well, and letting it go for now. It doesn't seem like he will admit it anyways.

"You sure?"

"Yeah, I'm tired," I lie.

Needing not to say more, Edward and I make a silent escape from the party and out to the streets.

He stands next to me while we wait for the car. He seems tense, his hands in his pocket and he's looking straightaway.

God, I hope this isn't about the money. The last thing I wanted was to make him feel awkward about it.

"Hey…" I reach for his arm and he snaps right out of it. When he looks at me, his eyes land on my shoulders and follow down the length of my arms. Without saying anything, he's getting rid of his jacket and putting it around my shoulders.

We exchange smiles as the car stops in front of us and he opens the door for me.

I sit in the cab, swimming in the scent coming from his jacket. My eyes follow him as he makes it around the car. He seems off again, and an uneasy feeling sets in my stomach as I see how he takes a couple deep breaths, puffing out his cheeks, as if in preparation of what's to come.

Okay, something's up.

His face is composed as he gets in. He turns to me, a sweet smile on his face. "Can we take these off now?"

He pushes his mask off his face as I reach behind my head for the laces on mine.

"Come here…" he waves his fingers in invitation, and I scoot closer.

His hands reach behind my head, just where mine were a couple seconds ago. He can't see the laces either and I wonder how much better than me is he going to be able to do.

I don't tell him though. I can't. In the confined space of this cab - between his eyes on mine, and his scent surrounding me — my main focus remains on keeping my hands to myself.

He seems to be struggling with the laces as well, and I laugh when he softly groans in frustration.

"Would you turn around please?" He sounds adorably upset about not being able to get the mask off of me without help. I smile but comply.

Even in his frustration, his fingers work delicately behind my head to untie the laces. When he does, he pulls the mask from my face, setting it aside.

"Much better," he says, the relief obvious in his voice.

Before I can debate whether or not to scoot back, he wraps an arm over my shoulder, pulling me even closer. For a moment he stills, his posture straight and tense, but when I rest my head on his chest he relaxes, breathing out into my hair.

I'm thankful to still have his jacket around me, or he would be able to see the contradictory effect his warm breathing is having on my skin.

"Thank you for inviting me tonight, Isabella. I've had a great time."

I find it bizarre that he is the one thanking me, when he has made this night perfectly unforgettable.

"No…" I lift my head from his chest turning up to look at him. "Thank you." The words don't seem good enough, but they're all I have. To accompany my inadequate words, I reach closer to his lips, planting a soft kiss on them.

For a second, it's a bit awkward, because he doesn't move. But sooner rather than later, his arm closes around me and his lips move against mine.

The throat clearing sound from the front seat makes us both stop, suddenly remembering we're not alone.

"Where to, Mr. Cullen?"

Edward cringes next to me as I move away. "Her place first, Thomas." He pinches his nose, and takes a deep breath. "And for god's sake, call me Edward already."

"Sure thing, boss," the driver says, and Edward shakes his head.

I giggle softly next to him as he wraps his arm around me again. "I have to get my stuff from your place," he explains.

"Oh, you're welcome to stay, Mr. Cullen." I keep my expression playful even though I am dead serious. I don't want him to go anywhere.

"Ha, ha… very funny," he says, looking out the window. And there's that off tension again. I don't like that he's hiding his face from me.

Is he nervous about tonight?

"Hey, I'm serious." I wrap my hand over his wrist, on the arm that hangs over my shoulder.

His eyes are warm when he turns to look at me. I hope my offer gets rid of the tension I'm sensing from him since we left the party.

"Do you want me to stay with you?" he asks.

 _I do. I do. I do._

"Wrinkles misses you," I say instead, smiling when he finally relaxes. "You've hardly paid any attention to him."

"You're right." The corners of his lips stretch. "How inconsiderate on my part! He will get all of my attention for the rest of the evening."

"Well, not all of it…" I pout purposely.

"Okay, not all of it." He taps a finger on my nose, smiling fully at me.

Glad to have him back, I rest my head back on his chest, my body tucked up against his, as his fingers caress my hair. We fall into a silence, but my mind is going a million miles a minute, still trying to figure out what could possibly be bothering Edward.

However, the movement of his hands in my hair is oddly hypnotizing and proves to be a great distraction for rest of the drive home.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~


	27. Chapter 27

Chapter 27.

We get dropped at my place after the party and Edward is quiet as we go up the stairs. When I open the door, he holds it for me and as I get in, he closes it behind him.

I step out of my heels, releasing a breath as my feet meet the comforts of the carpet, when I realize he still stands awkwardly a few feet away from the door, one hand behind his neck, the other in his pocket.

When he turns to look at me, his face is an adorable combination of shyness and uncertainty. Or maybe it's something else altogether, but desperate to make him feel at home, I step closer and reach for his neck.

"Maybe you should get a little comfortable?" My fingers work the knot of his tie, releasing one of the buttons from his collar.

He exhales through his nose — eyes hooded — his body bending onto me. Stretching on my tiptoes, I close the distance between our lips.

He is unresponsive at first, but all of the sudden, with a little groan, one of his hands is on my back pulling me to him. The other one shields the back of my head as he presses us against the door.

He leaves my mouth, only to breathe into my neck, and after ridding me of his jacket, he kisses the skin under my ear.

He uses one hand to hold us up against the door, while the other goes under my leg and with incredible ease, lifts me up so that my legs are straddling his left thigh as he presses his knee on the door.

He grunts against my collarbone; his lips never stop moving against my skin. I gasp for air, my body suspended over his, grabbing onto his shoulders.

The next noises I hear aren't coming from Edward, but from the creature at our feet, wrestling with his jacket.

"Wrinkles, no!"

Edward lowers me gently, panting slightly against my neck, before he chuckles.

"Stop it!" I crouch in front of Wrinkles — who is actively munching on Edward's jacket — and try to remove it from his teeth.

"Poor pup just needs some attention," Edward says above me, while I finally release his jacket. "Just like you said."

I fold the jacket over the couch and turn to look at him. "I'm sorry."

"Ah, don't worry about it. It's not like it's my favorite suit or anything." He shrugs casually, rolling his sleeves up. I can see he is still panting.

I palm my forehead, feeling a bit overwhelmed. "Maybe I should make some tea?"

"Tea sounds great," he says with that sweet smile of his.

Okay. Tea I should be able to do.

I nod and head for the kitchen while he remains behind with Wrinkles in the living room. I smile as I remember when he stayed in my apartment in Frankfurt after my graduation; I had also made him tea.

I peek out the kitchen door while the water boils. Edward is crouched next to the couch, Wrinkles on two paws in front of him, getting his head scratched. As Edward gets back up, my stomach sinks when his face contours in pain and his hand flies to his hip. I can almost make out his hiss of pain from here.

I can't believe how foolish I've been.

Here I was, thinking he might be nervous about spending the night with me, when he's actually been struggling to keep his pain from me.

As the kettle goes off, I set two mugs, while in my head, I go over every possibility of approaching this.

He's made our night a dream. A perfect one, really. But I don't know at what cost. And I don't want to be the one to ruin his effort now.

I peek back out, and he is holding onto the couch, shoulders slumped, trying to regain his breath.

His head snaps up as he hears me come out and he straightens his back. The smile that appears on his face breaks my heart.

When I hand him the mug, his hand is in a tight fist around the handle, and it looks like it might be shaking a little.

I will not let him do this. "Edward, stop pretending, please."

He frowns, staring right back at me. His eyes give him away though — he knows he is busted.

"Are you okay?" I ask.

"I am," he answers, swiftly and stubbornly.

"Don't lie to me."

He pinches the bridge of his nose, breathing out harshly through a groan.

"Have you been in pain all night?" My voice is barely a whisper.

"No…" When his eyes meet mine, he reconsiders. "A little."

"Did you take something?"

"I did before flying here, and I can take something else soon. It wasn't that bad, I promise."

"Is it bad now? Don't lie to me."

"It's not horrible. The meds are wearing off and it's becoming uncomfortable," he admits.

"But you were drinking." I replay our night in my head. He never drinks when he's on pain medication. I thought...

"I wasn't," he states plainly. "Rum and coke without rum is just plain ol' soda." He shrugs at his attempt of a joke. When I look at him, he tries for a smile that is almost convincing.

"Ugh, Edward…" I drop my head in one hand, my brain trying to figure out how I managed to miss this tonight.

He never once showed any sign of discomfort — He never sat either.

"Hey," his tone is sweet as he moves closer, one hand cupping my face. "Please, don't worry about this."

I sigh, looking into his eyes.

"I won't tell you I'm fine, okay? But I am good enough. Can we please just sit and have some tea?"

I'm helpless against his eyes when they beg me like this, so I give up and make my way around the couch.

He sits down carefully, not pretending anymore, but also not giving much else away. He shifts a couple times, until he finds a position that seems comfortable enough.

"So, what happens now?" He sips from his tea, turning to look at me with a raised eyebrow.

"What do you mean?" I ask in confusion, knowing very well he is trying to distract me... or perhaps even the both of us.

"With the money you raised. How long until they start building the sports facility?" He seems a little tense in his posture, but his voice is controlled.

"Oh… I don't know." I still can't believe we raised all that money. "But since we made more than we needed, I am guessing pretty soon."

"That's really great, Isabella." He smiles sweetly, turning the mug in his hands. "When do the kids get to know?"

He seems genuinely excited about this. I could almost kiss him.

"Tomorrow, actually," I start, shaking my head slightly. "There's an event at the old training grounds with a fair for the kids and a few games… even pictures with a big, cardboard check."

"Were you planning to attend this event?" His question seems sincere, but I can't decide if he's actually disappointed I didn't include this in our plans.

"I was able to get out of it," I explain. "I wasn't sure if you'd like to be dragged to that?"

"Dragged?" Raising both eyebrows, his question comes out in shock. "Isabella, I can't think of better ways to spend my Sunday than taking pictures with a big, fat, cardboard check." The smile that spreads on his face brightens the room.

"So, you would like to go to this," I repeat, just to make sure.

"I would love to!" His enthusiasm is contagious, and I can't keep the smile from my face.

"You're unbelievable."

"Me? You are! This is one great cause, Isabella. I'm just excited and proud to know you and to know you are part of this."

"Stop it..." I shake my head, staring into my mug, trying to hide my blush. "Would you like to be part of the event tomorrow then?"

"Do you need someone to hold the check?" He smirks adorably at me.

"I'm serious!" You adorable, adorable man.

"So am I. Whatever you need me for tomorrow, I'm game." He sets his mug on the coffee table and subtly rubs his hand over his thigh.

"Okay. Let me text Tanya." I reach for my phone on the side table and start typing a brief description of a surprise appearance tomorrow. "She might be able to set something up. Maybe you could do a signing?"

"Tanya?"

"From my department," I explain dismissively as I send her a text.

"Oh, right. Yeah, you do that. It would be nice to see her again." He flashes a smile that doesn't falter under my glare. "You really did get jealous," he adds, his smile impossibly bigger. "You're funny."

"It isn't funny…" I say, embarrassed, looking down as he scoots closer.

"You have absolutely nothing to worry about." His index finger pulls under my chin, making me face him, as he wets his lips and presses them against mine. I melt under his fingers as they caress my neck. They travel their way down, behind me, to my lower back, where he holds me closer as he pushes us down.

I lean back into the arm of the couch, gasping while he kisses my neck. He climbs over me, groaning into my neck and kissing my collarbone. My fingers fist his hair, pulling his face up to meet mine, and my lips collapse with his roughly.

He holds on to my waist, his fingers gripping my dress, as he presses himself on me. I can feel him harden under his pants. His mouth devours mine until suddenly he stops. His whole body stills, and when he shudders, the hand that was fisting the fabric of my dress is instantly gone.

His head drops in the crook of my neck and he pants profusely.

"Edward?"

He doesn't answer but the groan into my neck sends a shiver down my spine. I peek at his arm, his hand now tightly gripping the side of his hip. He starts taking deeper breaths, and then his hand gently returns to my side.

But I can feel it, the tension in his whole body. He is in pain.

"Hey," I say softly, running a hand over his arm while he resumes the kissing on my neck.

He doesn't stop kissing me. When his lips find mine, I can see the tight wince his eyes are in. A few words get muffled between kisses until he stops again. This time he hisses against my collarbone and my hands push against his shoulders.

"Please, stop." I beg, my voice breaking with unshed tears.

He lifts himself off me, kneeling between my legs, his left arm resting over the couch, while his right hand grips his hip tightly. He drops his head in defeat, over his arm.

"I'm so sorry," he whispers, his whole body sagging in pain.

I'm up on my knees too, in front of him, my hand brushing up and down his arm. "It's okay."

He groans into his arm, turning his body until he is sitting. Stretching his right leg and scooting forward, he starts massaging his thigh, while his other hand cover his eyes, hiding his face... from me.

"I swear I tried everything, Isabella." His tone is clipped, his voice controlled, as he continues the massages and tries to take deeper breaths. "I took it easy. So frustratingly easy! The whole week. And even during the game today… nine out of ten times I needed to sprint, I purposely didn't. I swear I didn't. And it was all for nothing!"

"Don't say that," I start, trying to peel his fingers from his face so I can look at him. "Tonight was perfect, Edward. It was. You were able to fly here, and be with me. Don't say it was for nothing."

Finally, his fingers comply, and he lets me move them from his face. His eyes land on mine and the pain is obvious in them. But it goes deeper than that, the frustration, the exhaustion, it's almost too much.

"I really didn't want to ruin tonight."

"You didn't. You haven't. Please…" I try desperately, cupping his face, inching my body closer, forcing him to look at me. "Why don't we just call it a night — and a great one at that. You'll lie down, get some rest. We have an exciting day coming tomorrow, and you will feel better then."

A thousand emotions flash in his eyes, and he can't seem to make his mind up about what to say. He opens and closes his mouth a few times, before taking a deep breath and sitting up straight.

"Okay," is what he decides to say, adding a small smile to his answer.

"Is there anything you need?" I get up from the couch, facing him.

He exhales through his nose, a little grin still stretching his lips. "I need a moment and a glass of water… not necessarily in that order."

My eyes linger on him a little longer than necessary, just admiring him, taking in the fact that he is here — in my apartment. He's here for me, with me, at whatever cost.

Were this night to end right here, I'd be completely satisfied.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~


	28. Chapter 28

Chapter 28.

A few minutes later, I am already in bed, waiting for Edward. He comes out of the bathroom, flicking off the lights behind him. The fabric of his white tee stretches across his chest while being a bit loose down his torso and ending just above low hanging black shorts.

My mood changes drastically as my eyes meet his face. He's wincing. His shoulders tense, as he limps his way to bed... to me.

He's in pain.

He took his meds a few minutes ago, but I am not sure how long they take to help him.

I pull the bed covers back for him and he sits down carefully, one hand on his hip, and then lowers himself down onto his back with a harsh breath.

I hate this. I hate that he's hurting, but I know there's nothing else I can do but relax and be here for him. So with a sigh, I down my worries, and move closer to him.

His fingers are half way under the waistband of his shorts, rubbing gentle circles over his hipbone.

"Does that help?" I can smell the mentholated scent of whatever he sprayed on for the pain.

"A bit," he says with a sigh, facing the ceiling.

I reach for his hip, where his hand is making pressure. He almost smiles, but he still faces up, eyes tight in a wince, as he tries to breathe away the pain.

He intertwines my fingers with his and runs our hands in circles over his hip bone. "Edward, no matter what happens," I whisper in his ear. "In a week, you'll be a Champions League finalist."

"God, Isabella, when you say stuff like that…" He turns to me, taking our hands out of his shorts, his eyes a deep sea of green.

My heart starts racing in my chest, because I can feel what he's going to say before he says it. "You make it really hard for me not to tell you that I love you." He reaches for my face, pulling me to him.

Before I can even respond, his lips are on mine. He moans against them, his hands pulling me even closer. I melt under his warmth, and his words fill me wholly.

"When you kiss me like that," I say when he leaves my mouth for air, resting his forehead on mine. My hands mimic his, framing his face. "You make it really hard for me not to say it back."

I love him. I have no problem saying it when the right moment comes. But for now, I decide to show him instead.

I pull his lips to mine and he pushes himself up on his elbow, his hand holding the back of my head. I turn my body, my leg hitching over to him, until I notice that the hand that was holding my face is now gripping his hip. He doesn't complain though, nor does he stop kissing me.

Every cell in my body is screaming at me not to stop, but I can't let him do this. I don't know how far he'd push himself, but I can't stand the thought of him being in pain through it — through this — through our first time. We are in no need to rush things.

"Hey," I whisper, gasping as his lips kiss my neck. My hand moves from his face, down over his shoulder and arm, until it meets his hand at his hip. He doesn't flinch as his fingers leave his hip to grip my waist, slipping under my shirt, while he groans against my collarbone.

"Edward," I try again, pushing slightly on his shoulder to get him to lay back down. He freezes, his hand flies back to his hip. The whimper that escapes him is one not of pleasure but of pain.

He flops onto his back, breathing out harshly — his face in a tight wince, and his hand in a white-knuckled fist at his side.

"I am so sorry..." I sit on the bed, freaking out. I never intended to hurt him.

"It's okay…" he grunts, taking deeper breaths. His eyes still shut, as he blindly searches for my hand over the comforter. Once he finds it, he intertwines his fingers with mine, taking a long deep breath. "C'mere, please." He runs his fingers up my arm, wrapping his arm around my shoulder and pulling me slightly to him.

I rest my head on his chest and he caresses my hair. His other hand is back at his hip and when I look up at him, his eyes are closed.

"Can I try?" I ask, and he looks at me. When I eye his hip, he nods.

My head rests back on his chest while my hand travels over to his belly and under the waistband of his pants. He breathes out roughly as my fingers squeeze under his hand, and I brush them against his hipbone. I try softly at first, but he makes pressure with his hand for me to go harder, before leaving my hand alone.

I rub circles over the skin while I listen to his heartbeat and breathing in a hypnotizing rhythm.

At first, I think I'm helping, but when his heart and his breathing start racing, I'm afraid I'm doing something wrong.

"Your heart…"

His breath catches as he shifts, and my hand freezes.

Did I hurt him?

His hand is around my wrist in the next second, and he takes a deep breath, pulling my hand out of his pants.

"Did I hurt you? I am so sorry… I..."

"No…" He breathes. "You didn't hurt me."

While he struggles for words, I look down at where my hand was just a second ago. The obvious bulging of his pants tells me I wasn't precisely hurting him.

Oh…

OH…

I drop on my back with a sigh, palming my forehead. I never realized what a challenge this would be — sharing a bed with him. If only he wasn't hurt… if he were okay then maybe…

"I'm sorry…" I whisper.

"Hey, it's okay," he says sweetly, smiling at me when I turn my head to him. I smile back apologetically. "Close your eyes," he says then.

"What?"

"Please…" We lie on our backs, next to each other, our heads turned in the other's direction.

I close my eyes uncertainly, and I feel his hand cover them. I hear him hold his breath next to me as he moves, and then I feel more than hear, the air brushing my shoulder as he exhales next to me.

His hand cups my face and, when I open my eyes, I see he has rolled on his side again. He holds his head up with his left hand, while his right caresses my jaw. His face is totally composed, his eyes show me no sign of pain, while he keeps his sweet smile in place.

"Edward-" before I can object, his lips are on mine. They travel to my neck, back to my lips, then across my jaw to my ear.

He is killing me.

I know I should stop him, but I can't find the strength in me to do so.

His hand works its way from my face, down my side, and under my shirt. His fingers feel cold against my rib cage, and I can feel my skin turning to gooseflesh all over. Our moans combine as he reaches up, his thumb barely grazing the under curve of my breast.

He stalls for a second, maybe waiting for me to stop him. I don't. My hand reaches for his arm instead, and I push him forward slightly in encouragement.

He breathes against my neck, as his hand cups my breast. My hand remains clenched on his arm.

His hand then travels downward and halts at the waistband of my pajama bottoms — his lips at my ear again.

"Can I... touch you?" he whispers.

I whimper and nod, I think, in agreement, and his hand slips in, reaching between my legs.

His fingers remain over the fabric of my panties, teasingly, perhaps hesitantly, while my thighs clench, trapping his hand there.

I can feel him breathe deeply in my neck, and I find myself needing a moment to catch my breath as well.

He's touching me, and it's spectacular.

Slowly my legs relax, inviting him in, and his fingers start moving. Even over the fabric, his fingers feel cool against my warmth.

With his hands on me like this, I have zero control over myself, and when a "please" escapes my lips in a moan, I am not even ashamed.

"Please, what?" His lips graze my collarbone. He never stops kissing me.

"Please…" is all I manage to say and his fingers comply, slipping inside my panties.

His touch down there is almost too much, a shudder runs through my entire body, and I feel like I'm burning against his cool fingers.

"Sorry," he says through a breath. "My hands are cold."

I shake my head, finding it difficult to utter words at the moment, but at the first sign of an attempt on his part to pull his fingers out, I press my thighs together again, locking him in. "No…" I breathe. "It's okay… It's better... than okay." My head tilts back as my thighs slowly unclench. "It's good."

God, I'm rambling like a moron.

His fingers are slow at first, testing, delving into me. Once one slides inside, my hand clenches on his shoulder, my breath caught in a gasp.

He works me up with his lips on my neck and his fingers inside of me. As he speeds up, I feel my muscles clench around him, and I freeze.

His fingers are too much.

I want him — I need him — inside.

"Edward…" My hand finds the back of his head and my fingers fist a handful of his hair.

As if he knows what I'm asking, in the next second, he's caging me, his arms flanking my shoulders, his legs between mine. I'm about to spontaneously combust when he drops his head in a harsh exhale.

Shit, shit, shit.

I remember then why we stopped in the first place. He can't do this. He's hurting.

"Hey…" My hands find his face, and I pull him to face me. His eyes are shut tightly in a wince.

He breathes through a groan and lowers himself, more of his body flush against mine. His lips trap any further objection in mine, and he ravishes my mouth purposefully.

"Wait," I manage to get out as he leaves my mouth for a breath.

"I'm okay."

"I don't want you to hurt."

When he finally opens his eyes, they bore into mine, and I can't find any hesitation in his. He wants this, maybe even as much as I do.

"Do you want to do this?" he asks, his voice strained.

I can't find the words to tell him. I do, of course I do, but I don't want him to be in pain.

As I don't answer, he continues. "Because I do, and I can, and there's nothing you need to worry about."

His eyes show me nothing but determination. He said he's tried so hard the whole week to take it easy so he could be here. So he could be here with me. If he says he can do this, if he thinks he's good enough, should I still try to stop him?

"Trust me, please," he says, undoing me completely.

"You'll stop if it's too much?" There's no going back now.

"Yes."

I pull his face to mine again and kiss his lips in agreement. When he leaves my lips, I want to pout from the lack of contact, but then he kneels between my legs, and the look in his eyes is that of a starved man. Like he's never allowed himself to look at me this way, yet I get the feeling he's always wanted to.

His eyes never leave mine as he lifts my legs in one hand, setting them over his chest, ridding me of my bottoms with the other one. His hand runs slowly, from my ankle down my thigh, a small smile creeping on his face as he sets my legs down.

A finger comes up in front of me, and he indicates for me to sit up. I do as I'm told, and his hands swiftly get me rid of my shirt.

He lowers himself again to his hands, pushing me down with him and kisses me, while my hands go exploring on their own. When I trail lower, my fingers lift his shirt and run along the ridges of his abdomen. His lips are still on mine and he breathes harshly out of his nose. I can feel his abs tighten when my index finger lightly traces the V that forms right on the inside of his hips to where it disappears into the waist of his pants.

I draw a line with my fingertip, teasing along the line of his waistband, and he leaves my mouth and lifts his face. His eyes are so dark they don't even look green anymore.

"Can I... touch you?" I throw his question back at him with a smile that is neither shy nor innocent.

He snorts in response, and I need no more invitation than that.

His eyes never leave mine as my hands release him from his clothes. My fingers graze his skin softly, and when my hand closes around him, he shuts his eyes. He brings his body closer, getting down to his elbows, while I stroke him softly and his lips devour every inch of skin they can find.

My hand speeds on him, while the other starts pulling on his shirt. I need more of his skin, more of him. I can feel his heart race against my chest and hear his breathing become irregular in my ear.

"Isabella," he groans in my ear, one of his hands makes it around my wrist, stilling it. "Slow down, please."

My fingers release him slowly, and he takes a few deeper breaths trying to calm down.

I fist his hair, my mouth inching closer to his ear. "I need you… inside."

He stills for a second over me, before his lips find mine again, he presses them on me once, and then is off, kneeling again between my legs. His shirt is all hiked up on one side — my doing — and in a swift move he gets rid of it completely.

A lock of his hair is falling onto his forehead while he pushes his shorts further down. I am frankly overwhelmed by the mere sight of him, kneeling in front of me. My eyes are shifting so fast from one part of him to the other, that I think I might give myself an aneurysm.

He places his hands on himself next, and I don't get to tell him the protection isn't really necessary — since I'm still on the pill — but before I know it, he's already back to caging me between his arms.

I lift my hand to his face and brush away the strands of hair that have fallen into his eyes. My fingers trail to his neck and down his chest until I have him again in my hand and guide him in.

He stills and searches my eyes for the quickest second, before slowly pushing forward. My eyes flutter closed as he slips further inside, feeling my muscles surround him. My breath hitches in my chest when his hips come flush with mine.

His arms are trembling, and when I open my eyes I notice his are shut tightly as he tries to find his breath.

"Hey..." I pull his face to mine, forcing him down to his elbows to look at me. For a moment, I wonder if he's hurting. He has to be, but his eyes convey nothing but need — a need that exactly matches mine.

He is breathing rapidly, and I can feel it under my fingers as they trail over his chest. His heart betrays nothing as it races under my palm. I rest my hand there for a moment, reveling in the feel of what my body does to him.

He doesn't dare to move, and I force myself to remain still even when it's the last thing I want to do.

"God," he whimpers into my mouth, putting more weight on me, and I can feel a shudder run through his body.

I kiss him back hard, resisting the urge to buck my hips, as my body writhes against his, begging for friction. When he finally moves gently against me, my back arches in response.

He kisses my throat and my head falls back, exposing it all to him. My eyes screw tightly as my body erupts in flames. He slides in and out of me, slowly, so slowly.

My fingers dig into his shoulders while his thrusts — slowly but steadily — bring me to the edge.

I scream his name, I think. I scream something. I scream.

My hand grips his hair and holds him close as he shudders over me, panting into my neck. His little moan into my skin sends a shiver down my spine, and I turn my head to kiss the wrist of his hand, which fists the sheets right next to my face.

He slowly relaxes and collapses next to me with a groan, his breathing unsteady, and his eyes halfway shut. I'm on my side, blissfully staring at him, and quite frankly enjoying the view very much.

After a quick trip to the bathroom, he returns, still shirtless, and his pants back to low hanging on his hips.

God bless the body on this man.

He fishes for his shirt within the sheets and turns to look at me. His eyes stray to my chest — my breasts still exposed — and the faintest, most adorable blush appears on his cheeks. With a grin that stretches on his face, he hands me the piece of clothing.

His shirt covers me down to mid thighs so I don't even bother looking for the rest of my clothes. Once he's back on the bed, I move myself closer, my head cradled between his arm and his chest.

"Thank you," he whispers, kissing my forehead.

"For what?" I ask, teasingly, turning up to see him and surprised to find his eyes already closed.

"Everything. Tonight, tomorrow, this moment right here."

I should actually be the one thanking him, but I let him have it. "You're welcome."

He chuckles softly but then remains quiet for a while. His fingers caress my hair in a hypnotizing matter as mine rub circles absentmindedly over his chest.

His breathing slows down and so does his heart. I wish he could find some rest tonight, but he's mentioned several times how difficult it is for him to fall asleep the night of a game.

"I'm falling asleep," he announces.

Oh...

"You are?" I lift my head again.

"Yes…" He looks so peaceful, his face completely relaxed. "Is it okay?"

Is he seriously asking if it's okay for him to sleep?

"I'm not sure I understand what you're asking."

"It's… I'm… so tired."

"Please, sleep. It's okay." My fingers trace his jaw, and he smiles with his eyes still closed.

I rest my head back on his chest as he doesn't say anything else. After a few moments, his fingers finally still in my hair.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~


	29. Chapter 29

Chapter 29.

The loud, steady beeping that I'm sure I turned down ten minutes ago is back again. I turn off the alarm, permanently this time, and stretch out on the bed. A smile spreads on my face immediately as I remember the events of last night, and my hand reaches across the bed, seeking Edward out. When my hand grasps at empty sheets — sheets that are semi-cold now — I frown. Not only is he already awake, but it seems that he has been for a while.

The room is bright now with sunshine pouring in, and a quick look back at the clock tells me it is about a quarter past eight in the morning.

"Crap," I sputter, as I fly off the bed. I can hear water running in the bathroom, so at least I know where he is.

I hadn't planned to go to the event today, so I obviously don't have an outfit picked out. I busy myself in my closet, looking for something decent to wear. I dig at the bottom, throwing a few pairs of shoes over my shoulder.

A small chuckle behind me startles me, and I stand up quickly, turning to see Edward standing, leaning with his shoulder on the frame of the bedroom door, arms crossed over his chest. He, unlike me, is fully dressed from head to toe in jeans and a black tee-shirt. His face is smoothly shaven, his hair perfectly styled.

The visual is almost too much, and images of last night attack my brain — him caging me, his chest exposed, his eyes boring into mine, his fingers inside of me...

The sound of him clearing his throat draws my attention back to his face. His eyes are the most beautiful, well-rested shade of green I've ever seen. A smile involuntarily takes over most of my face, and I feel ridiculously shy all of a sudden.

"Hi…" I tuck a piece of hair behind my ear, while my other hand pulls at the edges of the shirt I'm still wearing — his shirt.

"Good morning, Isabella." His smile is just as wide, matching mine and making the room impossibly brighter.

"I... uhm..." I search for words while I walk over to him. "You should have woken me."

"Nonsense…." He shakes his head, smiling at me. He reaches out, taking my fingers and tugging me into his arms. A warm kiss is placed on my forehead. "There's still plenty of time."

I melt into him, my head lulling comfortably against his chest. He smells like fresh mint and good mornings. I run a hand over his chest and down his torso, resting it over the belt on his low hanging jeans.

"Are you okay?" When I look up to him, his smile is still in place and he nods.

I believe him.

Everything about him today screams peacefulness, happiness, bliss.

Pretty soon, I remember my situation and the time. "We're going to be late," I say reluctantly, pulling away from him. A moment later, I'm rushing into the bathroom.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

Out in the living room, Edward is standing next to the couch. His leather jacket is hanging over the arm of the chair next to him.

"I made coffee," he blurts out adorably, as if he's not sure it was the right thing to do.

I smile at him, heading into the kitchen, and as I realize he has not had any coffee, I pour us two travel mugs.

I set the mugs on the table, next to my purse, and step toward him. I tiptoe — even though I'm wearing heels, he still has a few inches on me — and place a soft kiss on his lips.

"Thank you," I whisper against his lips, and a soft groan builds in his chest. He pulls me back into him, a little longer this time, moving his lips against mine.

Too soon, the kiss ends, and Edward is pulling away. He smiles as if everything is right in the world and gazes soul-deep into my eyes.

"I thought you said we'd be late," he says, caressing the blush flushing across my cheek. "Shall we?"

"I guess." I sigh reluctantly, and he laughs through his nose.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

It doesn't take us long to arrive to the old training grounds. In true Edward fashion, he had already arranged our ride with his driver.

Tanya is ready and waiting for us as we pull in. She says everything is on schedule as planned. Edward and Tanya exchange a quick hand-shake, and as she starts walking, he turns to waggle his eyebrows at me.

The nerve!

A small "ugh," leaves my lips as I scowl at him. We both resume our walks, while I pretend to be annoyed, and he chuckles next to me.

Edward and I are taken to a room in the back while they make final arrangements outside at the tents. From here, I can see some of the little children fidget and line up as they get ready for their surprise guest. Tanya pokes her head into the room, to tell us that they're about to introduce him.

I look at Edward and watch as he takes a deep breath. I narrow my eyes at him, suspiciously, searching for any sign of discomfort. There is none, and I quickly forget about my paranoia when Edward smiles brightly at me. His eyes match his smile just as much, and there's genuine excitement reflecting in his features.

He gives me a wink before walking out to the table, his face stretched happily into a grin and waving at all the little children.

I quickly walk back out to the front of the tent as I watch him do his thing. My heart swells in my chest as I look at Edward. He practically beams as he signs autograph after autograph and takes pictures with everyone, even the parents, who seem just as excited, if not more, than their kids. A few times, in between kids, he looks up and smiles at me. I ridiculously blush, every single time.

Seeing Edward with the children takes me back a few years. To the very first day I ever saw him. I was with kids then too, although not at an event like this. It was just a regular game of his, and I remember one of my little ones, standing proudly next to a crouched Edward, hands around his neck as I snapped the pic of both them. I still have that picture. I even know exactly where it is, having looked for it a couple weeks ago.

Time passes and the line doesn't seem to get any shorter. My attention is split between Edward and everything going on backstage, until I notice that his entire demeanor has shifted. His smile is all-wrong now, and his eyes are not as bright as before. He also doesn't look up at me anymore.

As they take the next picture, he smiles, but it is clearly forced for the moment. The fingers of his hand are gripping onto his thigh under the table, and his left leg is bobbing rapidly beneath it.

A quick glance at my watch tells me he's been sitting there for over an hour. He's said a few times how sitting for long periods of time can get uncomfortable. I rush out onto the stage and approach him from behind.

I stoop off to his side, whispering. "Should we stop?"

He shakes his head, taking a deep breath without looking at me. His eyes chase the line of kids still waiting.

"Come on, we can take a little break." My fingers gently squeeze his shoulder. I know he won't leave those kids waiting, but he clearly needs a moment.

He turns to me briefly before sighing in defeat. "Five minutes," he whispers.

I signal Tanya, and she announces we'll be taking a break.

The moment we're behind the tent, Edward places his hands on his hips and takes a couple deep breaths. He stretches his legs and back a bit, rolling his head around on his shoulders to get rid of the underlying tension there. He's not really limping, which tells me he isn't that badly off. When he turns back to me, he has composed his face.

"I'm-"

"Don't you dare," I interrupt him before he apologizes.

"What?!" He laughs, coming closer to me. "I was going to say I'm better." He stands right before me, towering over me — a sweet smile on his face.

"Were you really?"

He shakes his head admittedly, tapping a finger on my nose before heading back inside.

Once he's done with signing, they take a few pictures, and he is shaking hands with my boss when I approach them. I am just about to ask him if he's ready to leave when a group of kids walk up to us.

"Mr. Cullen, would you play a game with us?" one of the boys asks, tugging on Edward's leather jacket. He stands slightly ahead of the rest, no doubt the elected spokesperson of the group.

I shoot a glance to Edward, and I see that he's watching me too. I also see his hand on his hip, and as soon as I do, he drops it.

I crouch in front of the kid. "Sweetie, Mr. Cullen already gave us quite a chunk of his time, let's not impose, okay?"

His face falls, but the others don't hesitate to chip in. "Pleaaaaaaase, Mr. Edward, pleeeeeease!"

Edward's hand is on my shoulder, and as I get up, he smiles. "We have time for one game."

His smile doesn't falter even under my glare. He runs his hand from my shoulder down my arm as I shake my head at him. He should be resting. It's already been such an incredible effort that he is here. That he flew here yesterday, after his game. Even though he "took it easy", he was in quite some pain last night. He is obviously uncomfortable today. He should really be resting.

"It's okay," he assures, his eyes pleading with me. "It's nothing, really."

I agree with a sigh, and the kids erupt in cheers. In the next few minutes, Edward is in sponsors' gear, running around the field with dozens of kids on his tail.

The kids have a blast with him, and he seems to be enjoying himself too. I sit and watch in awe as he makes their dream come true. At the end of it, the kids are exhausted, and the look on Edward's face is one of complete fulfillment and joy.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

I hadn't realized we had spent so much time at the old training grounds. It's already four in the afternoon, and Edward has to be at the airport in an hour to check in for his flight. I stand by the door, holding the picture I've always wanted to show him to my chest, while he flitters around the room, getting his stuff together.

I can see right through him.

I can see it in the so slight limp in his every other step.

I can see it in the way his forehead remotely creases in concentration as he tries to keep his breathing in check.

He hates when I worry, but I'm afraid it's a little too late for that.

I've seen him through good days and bad days. I've bottled everything away and tried to help him get to the finishing line in the easiest way that he can, given his situation.

However, for some inexplicable reason, as I watch him pretend to be okay, it all seems to be threatening to come spilling out of me. This weekend has been a dream, but when I think about the week ahead of him, this weekend may have been too much.

He's already in pain, and he hasn't even started physically preparing for the final yet. The Champions League Final, which is only in a week at the Wembley Stadium in London.

I should've allowed him the time this weekend to rest instead.

"Isabella?" Edward's voice rings out in the space between us, bringing me back from where I was lost in my thoughts. "What is it?" His voice holds all the concern in the world.

I lift my head from the door and stare back at him. "Nothing," I lie, trying to compose my face the best I can.

He walks in my direction, his eyes never leave mine. "What is it?" His tone is as soft as his thumb brushing my cheek.

"I'm sorry," I finally say, unable to keep my voice from breaking. "I'm just a little worried about you, and next week. This weekend was amazing, Edward, it really was, but-" It all come stumbling out and so do my tears.

"Hey..." he interrupts me, his hand now cupping my face. "No buts. This weekend was incredible for me too. It was exactly what I needed. I wouldn't trade it for all the rest in the world."

When I look up at him, he smiles, and a little crease appears between his eyebrows as he points at the picture I had all but forgotten clutched to my stomach.

I stare at it for a moment, not really sure I believe that after all this time — after all these years — I still have it. I brush a finger over the familiar face and smile. My heart swells with the realization that even back then, this smile, it was mine — it was for me.

His breath hitches in his throat as his eyes settle on the picture after I hand it to him. He looks at me, back to it, and then back at me before he even begins to speak.

"How?" he chokes out on a breath. "Where did it... ?"

His eyes widen, and he brings the picture closer to his face. "That's me!"

"Yes." I giggle.

"With that kid… that day."

"Yes."

"The day I met you." His voice is barely a whisper as he still stares at the picture.

"Yes."

"You kept this?" When he looks up at me, I can only nod. "Isabella, I..." he trails off. "I just..."

The picture is still between his fingers as both hands cup my face. When his lips collapse harshly with mine, I can't help but reciprocate.

The sound of the horn coming from outside forces us apart, and he groans as he presses his forehead against mine. His eyes are closed when I look up at him but as soon as he opens them, he frowns.

"Isabella, please don't cry..." His thumbs delicately brush away the tears I didn't know I was spilling.

I don't want to cry. I wish I wasn't. I wish I was strong enough. But the very thought of him leaving this apartment and all that he has to endure in the upcoming week is tearing up at my insides.

I don't want to let him go. I don't want him to leave.

But he has to. We're out of time.

"God, you're killing me," he whispers, looking down and letting go of my face. It could be my eyes fooling me, but I could swear his water too.

I'm shaking my head, at myself mostly, for doing this to him. When the horn outside goes off again, he steps back and glares at the window.

"You should go," I say, wiping at my own tears.

He frowns again when he looks back at me. He reaches into his pocket, and before I know it, he's got his phone in his hand.

"Maybe I can change my flight," he says quickly. "There might be another one early tomorrow morning?"

"No, no, no," I say with each step until I meet him. "Please, I know you have to go. I'm sorry I said that, okay? You know me. I worry all the time." I try for a little laugh, but it comes out as a choked sob.

He sighs and his arm comes around me as he hugs me to his chest. "Don't apologize for telling me how you're feeling. Please." He kisses the top of my head, and with his lips still pressed against my hair, he whispers, "I love you. You know that, don't you?"

I nod against his chest, not able to utter any words.

He holds on to the picture and grabs his bag, slinging it over his shoulder. "Can I keep this?"

I only manage a no as he pulls my face in both hands and kisses me hurriedly, closing his eyes and breathing through his nose.

"I'll see you in Wembley," he says against my lips.

I try to smile and contain my tears, but I don't dare to utter a word in fear of ruining this moment.

He takes one questioning look at me, and with a nod, he decides to go.

I keep my smile in place until the door closes behind him.

I look out the window as he makes a quick exit of the building to meet his driver who has the trunk of the car already open and waiting.

With a hand on the door of the car, Edward looks up at my window, and a small smile stretches on one side of his face.

"See you in Wembley," I repeat to myself, smiling back at him through my tears.

I stare through the window as they speed away, my mind already counting the days until I see him on that pitch for the Champions League Final.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

A/N: Thank you so much to everyone who has read and reviewed. I can't believe were almost at the end. :')


	30. Chapter 30

Chapter 30

EPOV

The day is finally here.

Back in December, when we discussed the possibility of delaying my surgery until the end of our Champions League campaign, never in my wildest dreams did I imagine that we would be here today — that I would make it here today — five months later, in the Champions League final.

The past week has been excruciating. After spending the weekend with Isabella, I only managed to get back in training on Thursday, and it was bad enough that I needed a shot afterwards.

As bad as it's been for me, it's been even worse for her. She's consistently tried to be supportive of this decision — like I asked her to; like I need her to — but it's been incredibly challenging. I know how much she worries, how much it hurts her, and sometimes I wonder if I shouldn't have put her through this in the first place.

None of it matters though.

She's here for me, and if it wasn't for her, I don't know how I would have gotten through the last couple of weeks.

My head snaps up with a jolt from the cheering of the crowd. My whole body is buzzing with energy to the point that it's uncomfortable to stay still, so I'm relieved, as we start moving to get out.

The little kid next to me squeezes my hand, and I turn my eyes to see him. I reassure him with a small smile before looking back up, and with a deep breath, start my walk out to the pitch.

The crowd is deafening, pretty evenly split in half in support of both teams. The chants merge into one big roar of fan's support and love. It sets every nerve on my body on edge, and I am ready to get this started.

The anthem and initial ceremony go over in a blur. Before the game starts, we link our arms in a circle. Emmett is the first to talk.

"None of the shit that happened up to here matters. We only have today. This day. This game. This is all that matters." He claps a hand on my shoulder, bringing me closer to him. "We leave everything here. On this pitch. Every single bit. Until the last drop."

He releases my shoulder to pat Seth on his back. Seth has been the most affected by all the controversial bullshit surrounding Jacob Black. Jacob didn't even fly with us this time. The board canceled the lunch we were supposed to have together at the last minute. I don't know what's going on, nor do I care. One quick look at Seth tells me he's not thinking about that either, there's nothing but focus in his eyes, and that is all I care about.

As we take our positions, I still for one second, relax my body and look down. I take a deep breath, and whisper a little prayer, willing my body and soul to get through this today. It's what I've been pushing for all season. The greatest task of my career yet. The Champions League final.

The game starts fast paced, but surprisingly, we are in control. I'm not sure if Bayern are letting us, but we are definitely playing our game on its finest form. If it wasn't for Neuer, their keeper, we would have scored in the first twenty minutes. I focus on my job and stick to my tasks, keep the attack going on the right flank, and manage to make Ribery, who I am marking, see as little of the ball as physically possible.

My complete attention and focus is on the game. There is absolutely nothing else in my mind, until around the 30th minute when I take a fall while defending a corner. Unluckily, I land exactly on my right side, and my right hip collides painfully with the ground. It would have probably hurt even if I was fit, but I'm not fit, and my hip reminds me of that as I struggle to get up quickly. I devote some of my energy and focus then to ignore the throbbing on my side, and continue to play.

Bayern slowly starts getting into the game and they have a few chances before the game ends 0-0 at halftime.

I try not to draw attention to myself as we walk in the locker rooms, but my situation is far from ideal. I am quite frankly not sure how much longer I can ignore the pain emanating from my hip. The medic staff has tried everything they can. I'm under every combination of drugs that's allowed.

This is it. This is the best I can hope for — and it's not much.

As hard as it is not to think about the fact that I am in so much pain already, one look at my teammates getting sprayed, taped, and encouraged gives me the extra push I need to keep fighting, to keep going. Everyone's given so much this first half, I won't — I can't — give up now.

Only 45 more minutes to go. I'm halfway there already. I can do this.

The second half starts and Bayern find their rhythm immediately. They are playing so strongly, it feels as if they were holding back on the first half. They're attacking left and right, and we are frankly overwhelmed — at least I am. It takes everything in me to keep up with Ribery, but he doesn't even look tired.

I don't stop running though. I don't stop defending. I don't stop attacking. I don't stop.

When Ribery gets away from me and finds one of his teammates unmarked, his pass to their striker comes as a surprise to no one, and despite our efforts, he connects a free header right into the net.

1-0

Way too easy.

I don't have the energy in me to even get upset.

I peek desperately at the clock to realize we're on the 60th minute. There're still 30 minutes of play left. I use the time it takes to restart the game to catch my breath and just try to focus on getting back into the game.

We all go into attack. I'm running up that flank, trying to do anything I can to win the ball and move forward.

We finally get our break as Seth dribbles past a defender and into the box, where he is blatantly fouled, winning us a penalty kick. He goes down painfully and looks in no way able to take the kick himself, as it was originally instructed by Coach.

It seems for a moment we're all confused as to who is going to take the penalty kick, when Jasper steps up, takes the ball in his hands, and walks to the penalty spot. When I see how confident — how strong — he looks, a sense of relief washes through me.

Fuck, he has never taken a PK as far as I can remember, and he stands up tall in front of Neuer.

I take a moment to breathe, lift the weight from my right leg, and make some pressure on my hip on that same side. Seth walks to the bench, and Braun quickly checks on him as Jasper gets ready to take the penalty kick.

My eyes check the clock again without my permission, only 66 minutes gone, there's still a lot of time left in this game. My eyes then travel to Braun, and the bag at his feet. Deciding I should get all the help I can to get through this, my feet start moving towards the bench as well.

Braun's brow furrows as he sees me jogging to them. He knows what this means, as I signal him to get the numbing spray out. He's ready as I get to the line, I lift my shirt and he starts spraying at once over the medicinal tape that already covers my side. All of my attention is on Jasper though, as he takes the penalty kick and converts beautifully, completely fooling Neuer.

1-1

"Cullen," Coach says behind me, a hand on my shoulder.

"Just a twinge, boss." I nod at him. Coach and Braun exchange a look, but I have no time to waste. I sprint right back into position.

The soothing feeling from the spray is gone as soon as I start running again. Both teams are attacking, wanting to finish the game in 90 minutes.

The next twenty minutes are agonizing. I can't breathe, I can't think, but giving up is not an option.

I can't. I won't. I don't.

I am caught out of position; not fast enough to come back from an attack, and Ribery has got a good advantage on me. I don't stop though. I chase behind him even though there's absolutely no way I can catch up with him.

It's almost as if my body knows, if I stop, I will drop, so I don't stop.

Ribery 's got a clear shot on goal, and I don't know how, or out of where, but Emmett comes flying in to stop it with an amazing sliding tackle. I can't even manage words as I pat him in encouragement. He just saved our asses.

Every second the whistle blows and the ball stops, I try to release some tension on my hip, hitching my leg, stretching, making some pressure with my fingers. I don't dare look at the clock again, it feels like at least three hours have already passed since halftime.

During an attack from Bayern, I jump to clear the ball with a header and collide with Ribery again, who was right behind me, waiting to get the ball himself. The ball goes out on our end, which grants them a corner kick.

Not that it matters though. I stare at the ball, rolling out of bounce, from the turf. I can't get up. My leg is spasming, my hip is locked into place, and now my right groin muscle has joined the party of pain.

I barely register the pair of hands pulling on my arm, until I look up at Emmett who is trying to help me up. I can't hear what he is saying through the roaring in my ears, but then I realize the roar is actually coming from my chest.

I grab on to Emmett for support as I get up. I can't seem to straighten my back yet, so I keep my hands on my knees and try to catch my breath.

"Cullen, come on. Eight minutes left, bro." He pats my back softly but even that makes me wince. "We make it to the 90th and get a breather. Coach can rearrange if you need to step out."

Eight minutes.

Eight minutes…

How can there still be eight minutes?!

I look up from my bent position, Jasper is drying his sweat with his sleeve, panting. Seth is hunched over, much like myself, trying to breathe as well.

I turn my head to catch a glimpse of our very limited bench.

Rearrange…

Rearrange with whom?!

None of them can play my position. Anyway I see it, me being subbed off, ends in disaster.

What do you give when they're all counting on you and you have nothing left?

I straighten up with a choked breath and nod at Emmett, getting ready for the corner.

"I've got your back," Emmett says, patting my shoulder.

I can't really say what goes on in the next few minutes. I do everything I can to keep up. Keep up with defense, counterattack, Ribery… I give everything else I didn't know I had — everything.

But it's not enough. I'm the only one marking Ribery as he receives a long pass and somehow finds their striker through both mine and Emmett's legs. I drop to my knees as I watch the ball go in, and then everything numbs.

2-1

The clock I cursed just moments ago for going too slow now signals we're out of time. We're out of time, and we're losing.

We're losing the Champions League Final.

I pray and wish for those extra thirty minutes now — hip be dammed. If we could just tie the game, we could have more time, we could pull something together.

Coach makes some changes. We try everything. We all go forward. But there's no time.

Then it happens — the final whistle.

It's all over.

It's almost as if time stops, and everything goes quiet in my head. There's nothing but devastation, confusion, absence, in my teammates' — my brothers' — eyes.

My eyes find Emmett, it's like he doesn't believe it still.

How could we let it slip through our fingers? We were so damn close!

A world of guilt sets on my shoulders, and I can't bear the sight of him. I lower my head as he comes closer, and when he wraps an arm around me, I nearly lose it.

"We did our best, Cullen." He pats my back before moving on to someone else.

I am thankful to whoever hands me a bottle of water, and I chug on it to try to swallow the lump in my throat. My teammates collapse around me, and although the comfort of the turf seems tempting, I'm afraid if I let myself go, I won't be able to get back up. So, I wander around aimlessly, clinging to the bottle for life and fighting back the tears.

I am of use to no one. I have no comforting words. What is there to say?

Sometimes you try your hardest, you do your best, you give your absolute everything, and you still lose. Bayern has had the advantage the whole season. They have the bigger and better squad. They have ten times more resources than we do.

We still fought them, until the end. And we fought them hard. We could have won this game.

Maybe if I wasn't dead on my feet to begin with. Maybe if we still had Jacob Black on our team, playing with us, instead of on the stands, watching us lose against his new team.

Maybe, maybe, maybe.

We could have definitely had them. We almost did.

I stand in awe as Emmett, together with Coach, cheer the younger ones, who are pretty much destroyed.

I don't have anything else though. I'm barely able to move as it is, and I'm not sure how I manage to keep the tears that continue to threaten to fall from my eyes. Even looking at the fans seems to be way too much. I only manage a few glances until I'm forced to stare at my feet again.

After greeting the fans we need to regroup for the medal ceremony. I feel her eyes on me before I find her. I've made it a point to not look or even think about her throughout the game. I needed my whole attention and focus in those disheartening 90 minutes.

Isabella is on her feet, her hands in front of her, clapping. As soon as our eyes connect, her clapping intensifies. It's not very obvious, but seems genuine and purposeful. Her eyes scream a million emotions at me, and my lips stretch minimally when she brings a hand to her lips and kisses it, sending it then in my direction.

In a second, my eyes fill with tears and I can't hold her gaze anymore.

God, since when am I such a cry baby?!

I try to breathe the knot in my throat away as we start getting called for the silver medal ceremony. One look at the hundreds of steps that lead to the cup that will never be ours, has me wishing I could skip the whole thing, find Isabella, and get the hell out of here.

I think of nothing but her pretty brown eyes to help me through the whole thing, hoping that when I finally do get to see her, I've managed to stop weeping like a child.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

A/N: I'm so sorry :'(


	31. Chapter 31

Chapter 31

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

As soon as I see him disappear into the tunnel, I drop on my seat, wishing I never have to see him like that again. Even from my spot on the stands, I can see how this defeat completely destroyed him.

This game meant everything to him. He struggled through the whole season, pushed far beyond his limits to make it to the final, only to come back empty handed. They've all worked so hard for this, but him especially, in his condition. He sacrificed everything for this one last chance.

He was in a really bad shape after that fall in the first half, yet he still pushed through the whole game. I don't know how he did it, to be honest, but somehow he made it through.

Every second he stopped to stretch his leg, I thought — secretly hoped — that he would ask for a substitution, but he didn't. Not even after he took a second bad fall towards the end of the game and needed Emmett's help to get up.

He even asked for numbing spray in the middle of the game... He _never_ does that.

"Bella, are you coming?" Alice's hand on my shoulder brings me back to the reality I need to face.

They lost.

They lost, and he needs me.

I turn to look at Alice, wiping the tears from my eyes.

"Aw, sweetie…" She sets an arm around me. "It's okay, they will be okay."

Will they?

Will he?

"This is going to kill him." I whisper, mostly to myself as I get up and walk with her.

"Come on, Emmett is strong. He'll bounce right back."

I can't help the sigh that escapes my lips, and Alice stops dead in her tracks.

Of course, I know Emmett will be affected by this, but I also know that he will take a well-deserved break, and then get right back to work. Furthermore, he is healthy. Edward, on the other hand, will have to endure surgery and then recovery — miss at least half of the season! He doesn't even think they'll make it to a Champions League Final again.

Bringing her face closer, she whispers in my ear, "Edward will be okay too." With a shake of my shoulder she pulls me along, and we continue to walk.

The locker room is eerily silent despite the chaos going on. Everyone is kind of doing their own mourning; the defeat in the air is almost suffocating.

There are a few interviews going on already. Emmett is standing tall, in front of a reporter. The sadness is obvious in his voice and in his eyes, but he seems in control as he gives some answers to the media.

I stare at him in awe of his composure and collectedness — he truly is a strong man. He has grown so much, as a person, as a friend, as a man.

As he is thanked for the interview, and before another reporter approaches him, his eyes find mine. I take a step closer to him but stop as he shakes his head at me, and with a faint grin and a nod, he confirms that he is okay. His face falls then, and he gestures with his head toward the back of the room.

My eyes follow his lead, and my heart breaks when they land on the man that is crumbled to pieces on a bench. His elbows poke his knees as his hands hide his face. Time stops, there is no one else in this room, and my feet are moving underneath me without my realization.

I stand in front of him, uncertain on what to say. Should I even speak at all? His back is spasming with his choked breaths.

He takes one deep breath and suddenly stills. He shakes his head minutely, his hands still covering his face. "Isabella," he whispers, and it's not a question. He knows I'm here.

My eyes water instantly. I want to wrap him in my arms and hold him forever.

Uncertain on how to proceed, I take one step closer. From his sitting position on the bench, the top of his head is inches from my mid-section. My hand reaches for his hair, and I run my fingers in the wet mess of it. He drops his hands but I still can't see his face as he stares at his feet. His hands hold on to his knees as he chokes in another breath.

I take one more step. My legs are almost between his knees. The top of his head now touches my chest.

He doesn't move, doesn't even breathe for a few seconds, until his arms slightly tremble.

In the next instant, his arms are hugging me, and he buries his face in my shirt. I swallow the lump in my throat as he tries to breathe through sobs that shake his body, and I repeat to myself, 'He is not crying, he is not crying.'

I've never seen a more vulnerable version of Edward. I can't even begin to think how exhausted he must be to not be able to control his emotions at all.

We stay like this for a while, my fingers in his hair, his arms tightly around me. Slowly but surely he starts breathing better, deeper, calming down. He loosens his grip around me, and his face leaves my stomach. Staring back at his feet, he exhales roughly once, twice.

At his third deep breath, I can't stand not looking at his face any longer. I drop to a crouch between his legs, my hands cupping his face. His skin is reddened and his cheeks are streaked by tears and/or sweat.

He closes his eyes to avoid my gaze, and his face crumples. "I can't… please."

"Edward, it's okay." My fingers pull under his chin. "Look at me, please."

He takes a deep breath, puffing out his cheeks, and his eyes finally open.

"I'm so proud of you," I tell him at once.

"We lost." He holds my gaze for a bit, but then stares over my shoulder, avoiding my eyes.

"No. You did not. Did anyone think you'd even make it out of the group?" I try, but he just shakes his head.

"You made it all the way to the final on the first time you even advanced in this competition," I add.

He sighs, looking down.

"You fought the hardest," I continue. "You didn't let anything stop you. You are here, and to me, you are a winner."

His eyes meet mine again, and they scream a million things he can't say right now.

"We're going to get you better, and you're going to come back stronger."

The faintest of lights appear in his eyes. "We?"

"Yes. We. We are."

I could swear there's a smile about to form on his lips when we are interrupted by a throat clearing behind me.

I get up and turn around to find Emmett standing across from us. Edward's hand finds the back of my leg, keeping physical contact with me.

"I'm sorry," Emmett says to me before he turns to Edward. "They want you." He waves his hand in the direction of the reporters that are waiting for them.

Edward looks up at me before facing Emmett. "I don't think I can talk to them right now."

"We all have to," Emmett says. As Edward tries to sit up straight, his face contorts in a wince, and Emmett moves closer. "Have you been in to see Braun yet?" Emmett asks the question as if he's read my thoughts.

"No, he is still with Seth."

As if on cue, the door behind us opens, and Seth walks out of the infirmary. His face is completely devoid of emotion. His eyes hollow and he doesn't even look at us as he passes by. I'm distracted for a second, my stomach sinking at the look on Seth's face, until I feel Edward's hand move from behind my leg to my elbow, and he grunts as he tries to get up.

Emmett is luckily there to help, and holds him up until he is standing. Emmett's arm surrounds Edward's waist to help him walk, but before he can take a step, Edward shakes his head. "I've got it," he says through his teeth.

Edward's fingers close around my elbow tightly as Emmett lets him go and steps back, but after a deep breath, he loosens his grip. "I've got it," he whispers again, nodding at Emmett.

"After Braun, then?" Emmett asks.

"Yes…" Edward groans.

He limps slowly into the room, and I stay closely by his side. He never lets go of my elbow.

Braun is writing on a chart as we step in. He smiles at me as Edward makes it to the examining table, and with a rough exhale, he rests on the side of it.

Braun steps closer and his eyes make it to Edward, then me, then back at Edward whose fingers tighten around my elbow again.

"She stays." His tone is final, and Braun doesn't argue as he closes the door.

Edward lets go of my elbow, and I step aside and wait behind the head of the bed. If he wants me in here, there is nowhere else I want to be.

Edward peels his soaked shirt off his body and then drops his shorts, which leaves him in just his underwear as he lies back onto the table.

He starts taking deeper breaths with his eyes closed, and his hand reaches behind his head, until it finds mine. With a gentle tug, he sets my fingers in his hair, and then drops his hands back at his sides.

I don't look at Braun, or at that needle he is preparing. I focus on Edward, on his face and on the patterns I am running in his hair, hoping to help him somehow.

"Does it feel locked?" Braun lowers Edward's underwear a bit, exposing more of his hips, and then rubs the area with cotton soaked in some solution.

Edward only nods, and his hands clench into fists at his sides.

Braun grabs his leg, one hand on the flat of his right foot, the other under the knee. He starts bending Edward's knee, bringing it slowly up to his chest. He doesn't get too far before Edward groans, and then Braun moves the leg down and starts back up.

A few trials later, Edward's knee makes it to his chest, and he is able to breathe his way through it. Braun then rolls the cart with the needle and a chair to sit right in front of Edward's right side. His gloved hands feel over the bone and position the leg for the shot.

I can't watch. Feeling like I'm not doing enough, I reach with my other hand to Edward's shoulder, and start running my finger over there too.

"I need you to relax," Braun says, to me I think, but he obviously means Edward who takes a deep breath. He slowly loosens his fists, and his hands tremble a bit over the table.

Braun eyes me briefly, as I also take a calming breath, and he smiles. "If the muscles are tense," he explains, "I won't be able to reach the right place, and the shot won't work."

With his fingers over Edward's hip, Braun cleans the area with antiseptic to prepare for the injection. I look at Edward's face as the needle meets the skin. He barely winces.

I don't realize I was holding my breath until Braun is done and Edward breathes out under me.

"I'm giving you something stronger today, since you've already been through doping control and passed," Braun says, taking his gloves off and walking away from the table. "It should get you through tonight." He arranges two pills and a cup.

Edward has already sat up when Braun is back. He swallows the pills and downs the drink without a breath. "When can I have the surgery?"

"Edward…" Braun sets new team clothes on the table next to Lukasz.

"As soon as we get back, Braun."

"There is no need to rush. We need to wait for the-" Braun doesn't get to finish.

Edward's tone is final as he interrupts him "No. No more waiting."

I stand quietly off to the side, still behind the table, feeling as if I'm almost intruding.

"Listen…" Braun steps closer. "We need to wait for the inflammation to go down. Rehab after surgery will be tough, both physically and mentally, Edward. I think you could use a little break before that." Braun side eyes me subtly.

Edward's face turns to me, and with a sigh, he adds, "So, in a week then?"

"We'll see after Monday's checkup," Braun says. "I'll let you get dressed and see if anyone else needs me out there." He excuses himself before leaving us alone in the infirmary.

Edward still sits on the table, his legs hanging, his hands grabbing on to the edge of the table, flanking his thighs. His body is slouched and he takes a deep breath before his head turns in my direction.

He straightens his back a little, and I notice how he quickly composes his face before reaching an arm out to me. "Come here…"

I make my way around the table and as soon as I am within reach, his fingers run down my arm, from my shoulder to my wrist, and then grab a hold of my hand, and sets it over his thigh, with his on top.

"Thank you," he whispers, pulling me closer until his forehead drops on mine, "for being here."

It takes me a while to be able to form thoughts. To be honest, I am a bit shaken up. Is it silly to feel like this has been an intense day for me too? Considering what he has gone through, probably, but I still feel overwhelmed.

I wanted nothing more than for him to have this, and somehow, even though we missed out on it, he is still here, still fighting, ready to do it all over again. I am completely overcome by my feelings for him.

I've never felt more his than right now.

My fingers twitch over his thigh and he moves his hand up to cup my face.

I love him. I love him so much.

When his lips touch mine, I sniffle away the tears and surrender to him.

He breaks the kiss with an exhale, and his body slouches back down. My instincts kick in and all I want is to get him some rest.

"Is it a bit better?" I ask, both hands reaching for his face.

He nods softly, his hair falling onto his forehead as he faintly smiles. I know he has to still be uncomfortable, but he is trying, so I won't insist.

He takes a deep breath, shuffling on the table. I step back, so he can get down and then I hand him his clothes.

He finishes dressing quickly, and leans back against the table. A few noises outside the room remind me of the reality that Edward has to face soon.

I look over at him, to find him staring at me. I walk to his side and slip my fingers between his. He grips my hand tightly as he straightens up and we make our way across the room.

With my free hand on the doorknob, I turn to him one last time.

"Can you do this?"

"I have to."

I look at him and he looks better than before, stronger. Even now, he still won't let anyone down.

How much prouder of him can I get?

I tiptoe at his side and place my hand on his cheek and a kiss on the other. He sighs deeply, his body relaxing further at the contact. Then my lips are at his ear, whispering, "Almost done. Just a little bit longer."

He gives me a weak smile, and places a kiss on the side of my head, before stepping back. Our hands are still joined, our fingers entangled. With a sigh, I release him.

There are only a few interviews and a bus ride between him and the hotel. I am sure we'll get a few hours before the dinner and ceremony, and I'm quite looking forward to him just resting for a moment.

I know we won't get to be together until we're back in the hotel, so I stand aside as he does his thing and soon enough he's boarding the team's bus and I the family van behind them.

'Almost done. Just a little bit longer,' I tell myself as well. Braun has already helped him out physically — soon enough he'll be all mine to heal.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

A/N: Only one chapter left. See you Thursday!


	32. Chapter 32

Chapter 32.

EPOV

The ride on the bus goes surprisingly fast, considering no one is talking or doing much of anything. Emmett stares at the window the whole time, while I fumble in my seat, trying to stretch my legs.

When the bus hits a bump on the road, I groan, struggling again to find some comfort in my sitting position.

Emmett turns in my direction, glancing at me with tired eyes. "You okay?" he asks.

"Yeah…" I am.

I am but I'm not. I'm sore, and I hurt, and I can't think of a day I've been more tired than right now.

"How about you?"

"I've been better." He shrugs. "We gave everything, Cullen, didn't we? Every last single bit."

The image of Bayern's goal plays in my head. A thousand 'what-if's swimming in my mind. "We did," I say, refusing to give it any more thought.

"We came close." His eyes are glistening, and I wonder if he's putting up a strong front. He didn't break down like some of us did.

God, like I did… I let everything out. I couldn't hold back. Not with the world of pain — hard work, sacrifice, and tiredness — crushing me down to my bones.

"So close…" I say as the bus comes to a stop.

Emmett gets up quickly, clearing his throat. "We'll come back stronger."

He pats a hand on my shoulder as he moves pass me, squeezing between my legs and the seat in front of us, seemingly in a rush to get out of the bus all of the sudden.

I know him. He just needs some space to deal with this. He won't break down in front of anyone.

I don't manage the strength to move from my seat until I see the head of brown hair coming out of the van parked next to our bus. She peeks in the direction of the bus but, through the heavily tinted glass, I know she can't see me. As she makes her way into the lobby, I am suddenly desperate to get out of this bus as well.

When she sees me approaching, her face crumples, and a frightening look of worry flashes through her eyes.

Is she okay? Is she hurt? Did something happen?

I am overwhelmed by the need to hold her in my arms and make sure she's all right.

"What's wrong?" I ask, as soon as I'm close enough to her. I'm a bit out of breath, in my haste to get to her.

She seems confused as she stares into my eyes. My fingers itch to touch her, but we are surrounded by so many people in the lobby. Braun was right — I need some time off, to be with her, before the surgery.

"Are you okay?" I ask again, since she doesn't answer.

"Me?" She sighs. "How bad is it?"

"What?" Now I'm the one sounding confused.

"Your hip… you were limping… I…"

"Oh…" I stop for a second to think. Was I really limping? With the weight of the season off my shoulder, I guess I forgot to try not to. I don't need to pretend anymore, not for Coach, nor for my teammates. "No, no… I'm fine." I step closer to her. "I'm okay." On its own, my hand reaches for her cheek. The back of my fingers rub softly over her skin.

I've tried so hard not to limp in other occasions; she must think I am in horrible pain.

"It's a little easier this way," I explain. "I don't have to pretend not to limp anymore."

She still eyes me suspiciously, unconvinced.

"The shot worked, I promise. It's not too bad," I insist. "Come on…" I gesture toward the elevators as my hand makes it to her lower back. I give her a little smile, and she sighs in relief.

I avoid limping as we make our way to the elevators, for her sake, mostly. I don't want her worrying about me. Whatever Braun gave me was good, but not enough to numb everything. My whole body is sore, and my hip and back ache, but it is definitely manageable.

I don't get to take two whole, straight steps though, when Isabella turns to glare at me.

"No," she whispers gravely. "Not for me."

"Geez, woman…" I laugh through my nose. "Okay." Then I limp the rest of the way.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

Once in the hotel room, I close the door behind me, leaning slightly against it. Isabella sets her purse on the coffee table. Next to it, her suitcase.

I instinctively smile. "Your stuff is here."

She turns to me, matching my grin, and walks closer. "I was told to leave my bag here. I thought maybe you had something to do with that."

Her hands meet me at my waist, and she runs them up to my chest.

I barely manage a nod. I've waited so long for this — for her to be here with me.

When her hands reach my shoulders, a shiver runs through my body. Her fingers make pressure over my muscles and behind my neck. My eyes give into the weight of my eyelids and they flutter closed.

"It's over," she says. "You can relax now."

My body feels so heavy against the door; I have to push myself up to keep from sliding down to the floor.

I force myself to open my eyes. "Actually, this is just the beginning…" I say with a smile, bringing her lips closer to mine.

Her hands cup my face as she pulls away from the kiss. "You look so tired," she says, her eyes searching mine, her voice filled with worry. "Would you be opposed to a nap before dinner?"

Even though a nap sounds tempting, and I can't even begin to comprehend how my body is actually holding its weight up at the moment, sleeping is the last thing I want right now. My mind is going a thousand miles per second. Even if I allowed myself to lie down, I don't think I could sleep.

I shake my head at her, trying to open my eyes wider. "I'm not really sleepy."

"Of course not…" she says teasingly. "How about a bath?"

"With you?" The thought makes me almost stand up straight.

"Maybe…"

She grabs my hand then, pulling me from the door, and I suppress a groan as I force my legs to move.

She takes the lead towards the bathroom as I follow quietly. Once there, she lets go of my hand to start the water, and I stand there awkwardly, not really sure of what's going to happen.

A bath really does sound pretty nice right about now.

She stands in front of me, a small grin on her face as she looks up to me. Her fingers toy shyly with the hem of my shirt before she pulls it up to my shoulders and I help her get rid of it all together.

Her fingers trail from my shoulders down my arms before running back up tracing a little pattern over my chest and down my abs. My hands reach for her face, fingers trailing in her hair as I push it back behind her shoulders.

"You're trembling," she whispers, her hands on my shoulders and her face crumpled with worry.

I shake my head at her as a traitor shudder runs down my spine. I'm not sure exactly why I am shaking... I don't feel particularly cold.

She raises a disapproving eyebrow at me as my body contradicts my words.

"I'll be all right," is all I can say.

Her soft hands feel so good against my skin, I feel like I could just melt under them. My battered body is reacting to everything I've put it through this season. With her hands on me, and the promise of upcoming rest, I crave nothing more right now than to let her take care of me.

As soon as I realize this, my body shuts down. Whatever energy I was using to function properly leaves me, and I feel like I could just collapse.

My arms hang limp on my sides. I tell them to get to work — she is wearing too many pieces of clothing — but they don't seem to respond.

When her fingers reach my waistband, another shiver runs through me. She looks up at me as she pushes my pants down, which leaves me in my boxer briefs.

"C'mon…" She pulls at my hand and helps me step out of my pants.

I look down at my underwear and then back at her.

"Yeah…" She smiles. "I don't want to get distracted."

I want to wrap her in my arms, kiss her, undress her… but my body is no longer responding to my brain. It's all hers now — whatever she wants to do with me.

She guides my unsteady steps to the edge of the bathtub where the water is already halfway filling the tub. She tests the water with one hand before turning up to see me.

"In you go," she orders.

The steamy water sloshes, as I not so gracefully let myself in. I bite back a hiss as the heat of the water pricks my skin.

It feels so good.

I realize my eyes are closed, and when I open them she's no longer there. "Isabella?" I sit up brusquely, wincing at the pain that shoots from my hip.

"Shhh…" she says behind me, her hands on my shoulders. "Just relax." I don't realize she's actually in the bathtub with me until her knees appear under my arms, and she pulls me back to rest against her chest.

"God…" I close my eyes again, resting my head against her shoulder, feeling my body slowly start to unwind.

Everything else happens in a blur. Her hands are everywhere — in my hair, on my chest, down my arms, on my shoulders, behind my neck. She unhinges every part of me and puts me back together as a new man.

I don't really know how long we're in there. Something in the back of my mind keeps reminding me that I might be crushing her, but every time I try to sit up and get some weight off of her, she pulls me back down.

I am only slightly aware of her lips at my ear until she whispers the next few words.

"I love you." Her nose grazes the back of my ear. "I am so proud of you."

A kiss on my neck jolts life back into my body, and I turn as much as I can manage, sitting up straight, searching for her. I grab on to the edges of the tub as my hip protests, but I have no ears for that right now.

Her eyes are the brightest shade of brown, and I get lost in them for a second, before I remember her words one more time.

"Say that again," I whisper.

"I'm proud of you?"

I shake my head, feeling the air leave me through my nose. She knows what I want. She will say it again. I smile in anticipation.

"I love you," she says, as her hands cup my face. "I love you so much."

I close my eyes and let her words sink in for a second as my head drops and my forehead meets hers.

After so many years — hopelessly dreaming that she would one day feel this way — the joy her words bring compares to nothing I've ever felt before.

"I love you too," I manage to say. "I've loved you for so long."

I am unable to keep my lips off of her any longer. My hands resume their purpose, reaching from her knees, down to her thighs. When our lips connect I draw in a breath through my nose in desperation. I need more of her — I need all of her.

My hands now work on their own, roaming her body. I squirm and I turn and I try as best I can to find a comfortable position, but there just isn't enough room in this bathtub for us. My lips seal a little yelp that comes from her mouth as my arm surrounds her torso, and I lift us from the water.

I stumble out of the tub on numb legs and with her wrapped around me.

"You're supposed to be resting," she says as I quickly grab a towel, wrapping it mostly around her body as it clings to mine.

"We'll have time for that later," I reply, heading back into the bedroom. We only have a couple hours before dinner — and I have four years worth of secrets on her body to discover — I do not plan to waste any time resting now.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

I sit on the edge of the bed, fumbling with my tie, trying to loosen the knot a bit. As uncomfortable as sitting down is, I'm just too tired to stand anymore. When Isabella walks out of the bathroom, shining in her dress, I try to strengthen my position as much as I'm able to.

She looks stunning, radiant, and I almost can't believe she is really mine.

Her heels click-click their way to me, and when her eyes land at the stupid thing folded over my thigh, her face scrunches with worry. As soon as she's within reach, I pull her to me, our fingers intertwine, and my legs cage her.

"You look beautiful." I bring her lips to mine while I try subtly to hide the thing behind me with my other hand. But she notices it. Of course she notices it.

"Are you really okay about this?" she asks, breaking the kiss.

"I am," I say at once, looking up at her, retrieving the medal from behind me.

I take a deep breath before I get up. "I thought — four years ago — I had lost the one last chance I had to be with you, to have you be mine. And now look at this." I lift our hands, still intertwined, between us. "Look at us…"

She smiles sweetly, her eyes water.

"Now, who's to say I won't get another chance at this too?" My fingers grip tightly around the silver medal. "At another final? At least I will try my damn hardest for a second chance at it too."

Letting go of her hand, I walk to my bag where I deposit the medal, and then back to Isabella, extending my hand to her.

"Are you ready?"

"Absolutely." She smiles widely, eyes beaming, and grabs my hand. I know her answer doesn't merely mean she's ready to go for dinner, together, with me. She's ready for everything else as well.

And so am I.

I'm ready to get this night over with. Ready to restart tomorrow, or as soon as physically able. I'm ready for surgery, rehab, and getting back on that pitch. And most importantly, I am ready to have Isabella by my side the whole time.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

Well there you have it! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing, and for trusting me with this experiment.

Love,

Mac


	33. Epilogue - Part 1

Epilogue - Part 1.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

 _The sun shone through the window, making it hard for me to fully open my eyes. I stretched my arms, searching the sheets, slowly waking up in an empty bed. Sitting up, I ran a hand through my hair, stifling a yawn away into my arm._

 _I could see him outside already, his back to me. The waves crashed against his feet, as he gazed into the ocean, stretching. I walked to the door, picking at the edges of the hem of his shirt, which covered me all the way to mid thigh._

 _The view in front of me was breathtaking. Having arrived the previous night, I hadn't had time to really enjoy the scenery. However, the light blue sky, crystal clear waters, and white sand did not stand a chance against the man standing a few yards from me. His back exposed as he stood there shirtless. His shorts, hanging low on his hips._

 _As if he could feel me ogling him, he turned around, peeking at me over his bare shoulder. The smile that stretched on his face was one that I had come to know and love._

 _He immediately made his way to me, as I stood on the doorway of our villa. Without a word, he picked me up in his arms._

" _Good morning," he mumbled against my lips._

" _Do you always wake up before seven in the morning while on vacation?" I managed to say, while he kissed my neck and carried me back to bed._

" _I don't want to waste any time. There's a lot I want to do." It only took three days of rest after the Champions League Final for him to finally agree to a vacation together before his surgery. It was something his doctor suggested, since there would be no fun to be had while recovering from surgery._

" _Like?" I struggled for words as he set me on the bed tracing kisses up my legs._

" _Well… mostly you." With a devious stare he kept his eyes on mine as his hands worked on ridding me of my underwear, and before his fingers made it inside, his lips were back on my lips._

 _"You've been holding back on me," I gasp between pants._

 _"And I'm not even fixed yet..."_

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

In the faint light of Edward's post-op room, I sit on a chair next to his bed. My hand is still under his when his fingers twitch. Soon after, his eyes flutter open.

"Hi," I say and he smiles broadly, his eyes almost in slits. "Everything went fine."

Only a hoarse noise comes out when he tries to speak, so he frowns.

"You can't talk yet," I explain. They had to intubate him so his throat must be inflamed and sore. My fingers make it to his hair and he closes his eyes.

"Rest," I whisper. In true Edward fashion, he's awake earlier than expected, but his surgeon had warned us of the sleepiness that usually follows anesthesia.

I've been on the chair across from his bed for a while, reading, when the door opens and in comes Edward's mom and dad. I've met them before, but only a couple of times, and of course, as Emmett's girlfriend back then.

I stand up and politely smile at them as they approach Edward's bed.

Edward opens one eye and grimaces at his mother.

"I can't believe you didn't tell us your surgery was today!" is the first thing she says.

"Hello, mother," Edward says, his voice still hoarse. He is pushing himself up on his elbows, with a wince — which has me stepping closer, defensively. He shouldn't be pushing himself too hard.

"How can you pretend to go through this on your own?" she asks as she arranges his pillows. "As if you have no family!"

"I'm okay. It's not a big deal." He rests his head back on the pillow, exhaling roughly and puffing his cheeks.

After a couple deep breaths, Edward's eyes land on me. "Mother, Father, you remember Isabella?"

His mother glances at me, but turns her attention quickly back to her son. "Has the doctor said anything?"

Edward gestures at me to provide the information.

"He was here, but only briefly. He said everything went well and that he would be back with more information once Edward was awake."

"Well he's awake now, so…"

"The nurses know. The doctor should be here soon." I am starting to feel a little defensive, even though I know I shouldn't. She's probably just tense and worried about her son. I shouldn't take things personally. None of this is even about me. So I take a deep breath and stay put.

Carlisle, Edward's dad, who has been silent so far, comes closer to me. "How have you been, Isabella?"

"I can't complain," I respond with a smile as Edward's mother's cell phone starts ringing and she excuses herself.

"You had to tell her, didn't you?" Edward snaps at his dad, before turning back to me with an apologetic glance. "I'm sorry."

"Next time I ask you to keep something from your mother, let's see how well you do…" Carlisle says, walking closer to the bed. Edward smiles. "How are you, son?"

"One could almost say I'm fine," Edward says, winking at me.

 _Winking._

The nerve.

Approaching the bed, I stand by his side. "Do you need me to lower the bed? Are you uncomfortable? Do you need anything?"

He shakes his head with a small smile, turning to his dad. "How was the flight?" Edward clears his throat. He shouldn't be talking too much.

"Chatty," Carlisle answers with a laugh.

All right, these two.

A few minutes later, the surgeon comes in flanked by Edward's mother.

"Well, hello, Edward. How are we feeling?"

"Ready for rehab, Doc."

"All right, all right. One thing at a time. Are you still drowsy?"

"Minimally." Edward answers without hesitation.

"Good. I will go over some of the next steps with you, and I can answer any questions you may have."

Edward nods as I take a step closer to his bed. He takes no time to find my hand and wrap his fingers over mine.

"As I am sure you've heard, the surgery was successful. Took us a little longer than expected, but the result was satisfactory."

"Oh thank God!" His mother says.

"So as soon as you're feeling better, I'd like you out of that bed."

"I feel good already. I can try."

"Now hold your horses there, champ," his dad intercedes. Bless him.

"Correct. Sitting is going to be uncomfortable at best, so I think you'd prefer to skip the chair altogether. The sooner we can have you on those crutches and moving the better. For the moment being, though, no weight on your right leg. None at all."

"Okay…"

"You'll need help at first, to get out of the bed, until you are able to use the crutches and one leg only. As far as rehab goes, we will start as soon as possible. Someone will come over later today to start moving your leg. I must warn you though, it's a long process, Edward, and only your own body will determine how fast we can go."

Edward nods again, and I see it in his eyes. He hates this. He doesn't want to need any help.

"I usually tell patients to push themselves, but I'm afraid to tell that to you, since I don't think you respect or even acknowledge your limits. With the amount of damage we found, it was incredible that you were even walking, let alone playing!"

Edward's mother scoffs, walking closer to his bed.

"Unfortunately, there's no other alternative for me than to trust your judgment on that one so that you make the best out of your rehabilitation. You will have to be very patient, however, and listen to your body carefully."

Edward nods as his mother rubs his arm.

"I see you have a great support system, so I am not too worried about that. If you're already comfortable on crutches the day after tomorrow, we can make the move to the physiotherapy and rehab clinic next door."

"Two more nights in here?!"

"At least."

He closes his eyes, exhaling and dropping his head back into the pillow.

"Remember what I said: Patience." The doctor turns to look at me and smiles. "Any questions?"

"Yes, when can I try getting out of bed?" Edward asks from the bed.

"After you see the physiotherapist."

Edward groans and the surgeon smiles, nodding at me and at his mother before he leaves.

"All right," his mother starts. "Carlisle and I have to go deal with the hotel. Tonight your father will stay here, but we will need a place after you're moved to the clinic."

"Mom," Edward interjects, but she dismisses him.

"No, no… You just focus on your recovery, okay?"

"Mother,"

"We will be back in an hour or so." She grabs her purse and heads out, followed by Carlisle.

With a sigh, Edward's eyes find mine. "I'm sorry," he says. "When she's back, I'll tell her you'll stay instead."

I can see how tired and uncomfortable he is. I was planning on staying with him, but I'm not far, and I do have to work tomorrow.

"Don't worry about it," I say, coming closer to him. "Your dad can stay. He'll be of more help."

He doesn't get to disagree because in comes a young woman, in her 30s maybe, all dressed in white, with her hair up in bun. The physiotherapist, I presume. "I hear someone wants out of this bed."

"That would be me," Edward says.

"Hi Edward," she says, flipping a page on her clipboard and clicking her pen. "My name is Brie, and I'll be your physio while you're here. How are you feeling?"

"Ready," he says again.

"Okay, great! So my goal is that in the next four to six weeks we will increase your range of motion, control your pain and inflammation, and regain some muscular strength. We will start slowly, and as pain and inflammation go down we will do more and more. But Dr. Braun has warned me about you, so I can't emphasize this enough: You _have_ to tell me when it hurts. Sound good?"

"Sounds grand," he replies.

I'm starting to get to know — and love — this sarcastic side of him.

"All right, let's get to work."

I feel a pang of uneasiness in my stomach, as I don't know what it is she will do to him. He instinctively tenses, pushing his upper body up on his arms in more of a sitting position.

"Actually," Brie says, "let me lower the bed. It will be less uncomfortable for you if you are lying flat."

To her he listens to, and lets her lower the bed. As soon as he is flat, he exhales in relief. He can't hide this. As much as he wants to be somewhat sitting, it is clearly painful.

When she starts touching him, he seems calm. She starts at his foot and works her way up his leg. It looks like she is mostly massaging him. He doesn't seem to be in pain.

"Okay," she says, positioning herself at the foot of the bed. "First off, ankle pumps. You're going to learn to love these!" she says with a smile and proceeds to demonstrate with her hand. "Point the toes, then flex," she instructs.

"Easy peasy," he jokes, but as he does one, his body tenses infinitesimally.

"Do a few," she orders, and I can see and hear him hold his breath. He is in pain. "No, no, keep breathing."

Oh, I'm going to like her!

"How bad is it?" She asks him.

"It's not too bad," he says quickly. Too quickly.

"On a scale of one to ten?"

"It's a two," he answers right away, his tone clipped. "How many more?"

She's got him figured out already. "Keep going."

"Okay, it's a three," he confesses.

"Where does it hurt?"

By now his eyes are closed and his breathing is speeding up. "Here and down to here." His hand hovers over his hip and into his groin.

"All right, you can stop now."

He breathes out in relief.

"I think he did three, maybe four reps?" she asks me, smiling, while showing me her clipboard as she writes a ten under the number of reps that he actually did.

"Four?! I did at least ten of those!"

"All right, all right…" She walks back to his side, sets a hand on his shoulder. "We've got two more sets of those."

They get back to work and he pushes through them, like a champ. They move on to two more exercises, one where he presses his knee into the mattress, while flexing his thigh, and another where squeezing his buttocks he has to lift his hips slightly from the mattress. They seem harder for him than the ankle pumps, and at the end of it all, he is calling a five on the pain level scale and is covered in sweat.

I can't even begin to imagine how it must feel, for such an active person, to have something as seemingly easy as these exercises be so hard for him.

"How do you feel about leaving the bed now?" she asks.

What comes out of him can only be described as a whimper, while he gathers his breath to be able to answer.

My eyes jump to her as I start to worry whether she will push him too far. He is clearly exhausted.

"He can do it," she reaffirms me. "Here's what's going to happen," she says to him. "Sit up. Legs go off the side. Left leg bent, foot on the floor. Right leg extended. Me under one arm, crutch on the other, and up you go."

As he doesn't say anything she adds, "easy peasy," to which Edward smiles.

He takes a deep breath. "Let's do this."

Before he even pushes himself up, she stops him. "Not yet."

With a push of a button she has the bed bending for him until he is almost sitting.

"How's that?"

"Tolerable."

I stand to the side, trying not to be in their way but wanting to see exactly what she does so I can help him too in the future.

She wraps an arm around his torso, under his arms, helps his legs to the side, and scoots him over to the edge of the bed. He has one arm tightly wrapped around her, the other with the hand on a fist over the sheets. His eyes are tightly closed as he breathes out through his nose.

I want to tell them to stop, but I don't think either would listen.

"The longer you wait sitting down, the worse it gets. Trust me." She hands him one of the crutches when he opens his eyes. "No weight on your right leg, okay?"

He nods as he pushes himself forward. A little hiss escapes his lips as he balances himself on his left leg, getting support from her and one of the crutches. Once he seems to have some stability, he breathes out.

"You may still be drowsy from the anesthesia."

He nods.

"It's okay." She gives him a minute or two to get it together. Once he is breathing more normally, she reaches for the other crutch. "Want to try?"

We both look at her as if she's insane but she holds her smile in place. "Last thing on my clipboard," she says. "I promise."

Slowly, he takes more of his weight off of her, until he only has a hand on her shoulder. She moves the second crutch closer to him and his hand, and in the next second he is fully supporting himself on both crutches.

"Well done, Edward," she says, scribbling into her clipboard, when suddenly, off he goes, crutches forward and a hop, crutches forward and a hop...

Hours after surgery, he is circling the room in crutches. This man...

"Oh…" Brie turns to look at me with a smile. "Most patients don't get out of bed until the second day. Only a few do. I knew he was one of those."

Of course he is one of the few.

When Edward makes his way back to the bed, he is panting and very pale. Brie helps him back on the bed, until he is lying back down and flat.

He is swallowing hard, while taking deep breaths. To me, it looks like he might throw up.

I look at her, worriedly, asking silently whether we should do something.

"It's the anesthesia," she explains, picking up her things. "The nausea will pass. He will be fine."

Once Brie leaves the room, Edward's breathing is back to normal but his eyes are still closed.

When my fingers make it to his hair, he sighs. "This is tough."

"Of course it is, Edward. It's your first day, and you are already doing so well!"

"That was one hundred percent, absolutely everything I could do for now… and it wasn't much," he adds disappointedly.

"It was. It was plenty. Remember what the doctor said, okay? We have to be patient."

"Yes," he says breathing deeply. "Yes."


End file.
